“This isn’t real…this isn’t real…this isn’t real.” – walls ripple like waves of the sea; bends and twists; maneuvers that defy laws of physics. “This isn’t real…this isn’t real.” – distorted figments of my imagination emerge; balloons conceal an ivory white ceiling and confetti spills out; at first a jubilant blizzard, followed swiftly by vibrant, assorted shreds of celebration drifting softly through the air prior to final descent, reconstructing the floor into a resounding work of art. “This isn’t real…this isn’t real.” – a phantom silhouette develops in the window; moonlight launching life into its shadowy, dark form; catlike eyes shoot sinister shots striving to slaughter in every direction; an impetuous endeavor to claim itself a new victim.
“This isn’t real…this isn’t real” – there are crowns on the clowns slipping in and out of the walls; little green men running loose through the halls; a mermaid lies resting at the foot of the bed; kittens wearing mittens of green, blue, and red. “This isn’t real…this isn’t real.” – a paralyzed body shelters this lively, vigilant mind; bathing in sweat, permeating through stiff motel sheets, irrepressible shivering stays steady despite this interminable excretion of moisture. “This isn’t real.” – desperate now for this ostensible nightmare to end…a battle of eyes to stay opened or closed. “This isn’t real!” A sudden, silent spine-chilling void in the room; the phantom is gone, the moonlight shines free – no more balloons or little green men, no more confetti or kittens in red; the clowns wearing crowns have retreated back home, I’m finally left in this room all alone.
Delirium Tremens: commonly referred to as DT’s – a psychotic condition typical of withdrawal in chronic alcoholics, involving tremors, hallucinations, anxiety, and disorientation.
This “fun” new feature added to my personal history of detox symptoms has just started to occur while sobering up during each of my last two consecutive relapses; the disease progresses, and as I have recently experienced, trailing right on its coattails are the effects of withdrawal. Unwillingly it has hurled me orbiting into the next realm of my life which has been lived primarily for the extremes; where law and order cease to exist; balance is non-existent – readings from my scale of viability cannot be perceived as anything other than an eternal enigma; I’ll invite fellow drunk, Billy Joel, to break it down for us:
“Sometimes I’m tired, sometimes I’m shot, Sometimes I don’t know how much more I’ve got, Maybe I’m headed over the hill, Maybe I’ve set myself up for the kill, Tell me how much do you think you can take, Until the heart in you is starting to break? Sometimes it feels like it will,
Darling I don’t know why I go to extremes, Too high or too low there ain’t no in-betweens, And if I stand or I fall, It’s all or nothing at all, Darling I don’t know why I go to extremes”
-Thanks Billy, you’re truly an inspiration.
It haunts me at night and plagues me by day, this battle between extremes – diving deeper down daily; making myself lost within the manipulative maze of my mind; I get sent spinning off course, analyzing and dissecting how much my circumstances digress every time I unleash the active disease to showcase and prove its persistent progression. I consistently collide with these disheartening dead ends; retreating and rerouting in hopes to discover an innocuous way out, knowing full well there is no exit at all, safe or otherwise – not in the maze of this mind at least.
How do I restore a balance, or probably more accurately, establish one for the first time? I feel faced with a question that may never birth an answer. How do I embody a genuine value in my life while I flounder at rock bottom, when I couldn’t even see a value in it when I had risen to the peak? I begin to believe my life is merely living at each radical end of the spectrum; a human ping-pong ball; a bunch of drivel adjoining time and space in the superfluous intervals; pounded back and forth by the paddles of life. I physically fight; I mentally fight; I spiritually fight; I become drained and discouraged; critically and cruelly cast down – up to date my record corroborates a uniformed overpowering – but lucky for me, all it may take is that one crucial win to be set on the right course.