still remain; but mostly it’s the dry heaves. I hate dry heaves
so I decide to be proactive and drink some water so that if I start vomiting
I’ll have something to spew forth and that’s so much better. I’ve never been
prone to panic attacks until now. One more time I can feel a huge wave of fear
crashing down over my head. I can feel my body tumbling along, head over heels
and powerless to stop what is going on with me. I can’t live this way. I sit on
the bed watching the antiques road show. I’ve got my hands pinned beneath my
ass. I hoping if I just sit on them I won’t get into trouble. By trouble
meaning I’m hoping to stop myself from attacking the mini bar in my room. I
look at my watch. I give myself ten minutes.
Five minutes later I’m lying in bed cradling an arm full
of those damn bottles again. I take a quick count while I nurse tequila. I’ve
got a total of 3 more tequila’s, four Jack Daniels, and Two Vodkas. I polish
off two more Tequilas and Vodka while the antique show raps up. Clearly these
are not going to last long. By four I’ve got a pretty good buzz going on. More
importantly, my episodes of panic are subsiding. By six my phone begins to ring
again. Once more it’s that number I don’t recognize. Whoever it is called six
times yesterday and five times so far today. Someone really wants to talk to
me. I’m just not sure I want to talk to them. At seven Stacy calls three more
times but declines to leave a message. When ten o’clock rolls around the
anonymous person calls again. Half drunk and thoroughly pissed off I decide to
answer the damn phone and tell off whoever it is that’s bugging me.
“What the fuck do you want?” I bark into the phone, not
caring how much of my anger comes through in my voice.
“Morgan honey?”
“Mom?”
“Auntie Swift dearie.”
What the fuck? She’s got Alzheimer’s. How the hell is she
calling me?”
“Morgan are you going to talk to me?” My aunt asks
plaintively.
“I thought…how do you know it’s me. You know I called you
a couple days ago. Why didn’t you talk to me then?”
“I didn’t know you called. Of course I would have talked
to you honey. You’re like my own child. You are my child Morgan and I love
you.”
Tears. Holy shit! Tears are streaming down my face.
“I tried calling you…many times, a long time ago but you…
you didn’t know me anymore.”
“I didn’t know you called. Of course I would have talked
to you honey. You know I love you right?”
“I-I know… Hey do…do you have any more of those letters
from my mom?”
“Honey what letters?”
“You know the ones you used to give me that she wrote
just before she died. Those letters. Do you have anymore?”
“Sweetie I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your
mother didn’t leave any letters for you.”
“But you…never mind auntie forget it.”
I shouldn’t have asked her. She really did throw them
away I guess. I went through the house after she moved to the retirement
community hoping to find the remaining letters but I couldn’t find a thing
except a letter from my mother to my aunt telling her to make sure to give me
the letters. That was the only thing I could find. I can feel my heart drop
even further as my aunt drones on about life in the retirement home. I doubt
it’s even half true but I let her talk thinking she must have something really
important to say as she must have called me twenty times in the last couple
days. It doesn’t help that my head is spinning out of control again and I’m
struggling to swallow back the bile that’s threatening to erupt. I unscrew the
last liquor bottle and down it in a few quick swallows. I don’t even feel the
burn as it goes down. As she continues to drone on I’m not sure if she’s
becoming even more incoherent or my brain is just getting too fried to follow
her logic. Then she suddenly sounds crystal clear like she hasn’t sounded in
fifteen years.
“Morgan, what did you
so I decide to be proactive and drink some water so that if I start vomiting
I’ll have something to spew forth and that’s so much better. I’ve never been
prone to panic attacks until now. One more time I can feel a huge wave of fear
crashing down over my head. I can feel my body tumbling along, head over heels
and powerless to stop what is going on with me. I can’t live this way. I sit on
the bed watching the antiques road show. I’ve got my hands pinned beneath my
ass. I hoping if I just sit on them I won’t get into trouble. By trouble
meaning I’m hoping to stop myself from attacking the mini bar in my room. I
look at my watch. I give myself ten minutes.
Five minutes later I’m lying in bed cradling an arm full
of those damn bottles again. I take a quick count while I nurse tequila. I’ve
got a total of 3 more tequila’s, four Jack Daniels, and Two Vodkas. I polish
off two more Tequilas and Vodka while the antique show raps up. Clearly these
are not going to last long. By four I’ve got a pretty good buzz going on. More
importantly, my episodes of panic are subsiding. By six my phone begins to ring
again. Once more it’s that number I don’t recognize. Whoever it is called six
times yesterday and five times so far today. Someone really wants to talk to
me. I’m just not sure I want to talk to them. At seven Stacy calls three more
times but declines to leave a message. When ten o’clock rolls around the
anonymous person calls again. Half drunk and thoroughly pissed off I decide to
answer the damn phone and tell off whoever it is that’s bugging me.
“What the fuck do you want?” I bark into the phone, not
caring how much of my anger comes through in my voice.
“Morgan honey?”
“Mom?”
“Auntie Swift dearie.”
What the fuck? She’s got Alzheimer’s. How the hell is she
calling me?”
“Morgan are you going to talk to me?” My aunt asks
plaintively.
“I thought…how do you know it’s me. You know I called you
a couple days ago. Why didn’t you talk to me then?”
“I didn’t know you called. Of course I would have talked
to you honey. You’re like my own child. You are my child Morgan and I love
you.”
Tears. Holy shit! Tears are streaming down my face.
“I tried calling you…many times, a long time ago but you…
you didn’t know me anymore.”
“I didn’t know you called. Of course I would have talked
to you honey. You know I love you right?”
“I-I know… Hey do…do you have any more of those letters
from my mom?”
“Honey what letters?”
“You know the ones you used to give me that she wrote
just before she died. Those letters. Do you have anymore?”
“Sweetie I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your
mother didn’t leave any letters for you.”
“But you…never mind auntie forget it.”
I shouldn’t have asked her. She really did throw them
away I guess. I went through the house after she moved to the retirement
community hoping to find the remaining letters but I couldn’t find a thing
except a letter from my mother to my aunt telling her to make sure to give me
the letters. That was the only thing I could find. I can feel my heart drop
even further as my aunt drones on about life in the retirement home. I doubt
it’s even half true but I let her talk thinking she must have something really
important to say as she must have called me twenty times in the last couple
days. It doesn’t help that my head is spinning out of control again and I’m
struggling to swallow back the bile that’s threatening to erupt. I unscrew the
last liquor bottle and down it in a few quick swallows. I don’t even feel the
burn as it goes down. As she continues to drone on I’m not sure if she’s
becoming even more incoherent or my brain is just getting too fried to follow
her logic. Then she suddenly sounds crystal clear like she hasn’t sounded in
fifteen years.
“Morgan, what did you
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