26 days ago

The dugout It’s 4am, and it’s raining. I just took a dose of ghb. I have been up for 6 days. I stare at a palm tree swaying in the distance. The sound of rain hitting the infield of the little league baseball field I have been living in for the past 3 days triggers something in me. My eyes are dripping water, not from the rain. Tears. They are flowing from somewhere deep inside of me.

I’m 4 months into a meth binge. I’m hallucinating. I see my dad on the pitchers mound summoning me to the batters box. I smile, and more tears come. A warm sense of familiar nostalgia ushers me from the duggot. I’m 11 years old again. I grab my imaginary bat from a childhood friend and walk to the box. Dad yells, “Keep your eye on the ball, Evan.” I smile like I always do. I look at my dad as he begins his windup and i feel a gigantic pit in my stomach. I swing, and I miss. I yell sorry but the words are not enough."” He walks off into the outfield and dissappears

Tears start erupting from my dehydrated, sunken eyes. I want him to throw another pitch to show him I’m good enough. I run to my bottle of vodka and take a hefty swig. I’m soaking wet, and I can feel the presence of the morning coming like the first troops to land on Normandy on d day. I grab my meth and crush up 2 rocks throw it into the minuscule amount of blue Gatorade and pop in a half of alkaseltzer to mess up the ph levels in my stomach to make the meth absorb 99% because I can’t find my veins anymore. I gag and swig it down. I sigh and stare off into the rising sun….

I hear a crack of a baseball in the distance, and I start walking towards the other field. It’s still raining, but I can see the warm glow on the horizon as I walk down a grass field. I hear “swing batter batter."” The field is full of my old little league team. I get closer, and I’m smiling crazily. I squint at a familiar figure on the pitchers mound. It’s me. Little tiny Evan. I sit down on the grass muddy and wet. I’m clapping as I watch myself strike out the batter. I see my brother he’s playing 3rd base. A ball is hit toward him and gobbles it up from the wet infield and throws it to first base for the out. I hear my mom and look over to the bleachers, and she’s screaming, “Good job, hunny!” Then puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles. That loud, assertive mom whistle that she used to get us to come home when it got dark. We could hear it from a mile away. I haven’t heard that whistle in decades.

The morning sun finally broke from the blackness and was beaming on the baseball field, me and my brother ran together to the dugout, and my dad gave us both growl heads. We look so innocent and full of hope. I see my young smile, I smile. My innocent 11 year old baseball loving self is smiling at me, sitting in the grass hill immaciated, soaking wet,sunken eyes, and he just smiles and waves. I wave back, and im crying. They all turn around and walk back to their cars that aren’t really there. I see my family get into our mom old ugly beautiful buick. My mom shouts from the driver seat. "i love you, hunny." They all wave and drive off down the road and disappear. The sun is electric. i walked back to my dugout, i was living in and packed my shit up. I mouth to myself, “play ball”

It's time to make that little kid proud.

sobriety society

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