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The Urge to Purge

The alcohol.

By Jessica RasilePublished 6 years ago 2 min read

It burns, as it slips slowly down my throat.

I can feel it making it's way down into my stomach and settling there.

The alcohol.

It runs through my blood like water rolling down stream.

It's consuming me, and the buzz feels so good.

I take another shot.

I know I probably shouldn't, but I do.

I've had enough. It's never enough.

I'm always pushing the limit, even though I know my body can't handle it.

My mind though, it needs it.

Feels like it needs it.

So I take another,

and another, and another.

Until my body betrays me and I can no longer keep it down.

It creeps back up into my throat until I feel it settling in my mouth,

pushing against my lips, trying to find it's way out.

It burns just as much coming up as it did going down.

But I refuse the urge to throw up.

I shut my eyes tightly and swallow the remnants of alcohol and whatever else from my stomach, forcing it back.

I can't let it out.

If I do, that'll be it for the night, and I'm not done yet.

I take a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels to wash it down.

It's not as smooth now, but I don't care.

I'm not finished.

I wake up, vomit and spilt Pepsi are embedded into the living room carpet.

I must've blacked out again because I don't remember anything.

My clothes are tossed across the floor.

I'm naked.

What the fuck happened?

Once again I took it too far.

What happened?

I still feel drunk.

My stomach is rumbling so loudly, I'm sure the people outside my window can hear it.

I feel so empty.

Why do I do this?

I want to forget and stop feeling so badly that I torture myself with liquor and cigarettes.

Night after night, the same process of purging my thoughts, my insecurities away.

Every morning, waking up feeling like shit and so lost and confused about any events that may have occurred that led me to wherever I passed out the night before.

Why do I do this?

I spend the days regretting my actions, knowing full well I'm just going to do it all over again in a few hours.

I'm not sure how I got here, or where my underwear went.

I lay back down and throw the blanket over my head.

I'll try and sleep it off.

Leaving everything as it was, I drift away,

dreaming of shot glasses and Belmont lights.

performance poetry

About the Creator

Jessica Rasile

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