Through the Windshield – A short story

A month or so ago a blog I read held a writing contest based on the image below. What came out of me took about 30 minutes to write and it’s all true though written with a different style based on the photo. Most of you have seen it and voted for my entry to the point that I won! I wanted to get it down here on the blog because it’s a testament to how much I love to write even though I think I’m horrible at it. Enjoy…

10 years and 3 months ago I did the last line of cocaine in my life.

6 years prior to that was the promise of a fun night and an expectation that I could forget my problems. I was in college, had no real responsibility, a lot of weight from the death of a close friend, and a family that was too spread out. That night was everything I thought it would be and even the first couple of years were good… stay up all night, drink lots, laugh, party and solve the world’s problems.

The later years were a left turn over the tracks and a drive through the shitty part of town. The nights got shorter and the days turned into 72+ hour, sleep when you’re dead, craziness. No pill was too much and no party was too far. “More” quickly turned into “Not Enough”. For those that don’t have the experience with this, it’s a feeling of total helplessness. The cocaine starts to change the way you think, the way you act, the things you value… and you never even know it.

In moments when you sober up, you start slipping in and out of feeling like your life is empty and you need to change, but your brain won’t let you get out. Those last few months of life on drugs were the lowest of the low… surviving on credit cards and my job may as well just paid me in cocaine since that what it was all going to. I spent many mornings watching the sun rise, usually driving somewhere to get more. Trust me… the only people that are up selling drugs at 7am on a Tuesday, are pretty fucking nasty.

When I see this picture, that’s what I think of… sitting in my car at 7am, looking out into the world with a empty stare. I can’t see the Truth of what is really going on because the windshield has a haze of lies covering it. On the corner, my true friends are watching me stare out, but all they can make out is part of what used to be me. The rest of the car is unkept and covered in dust and dirt, like my life. They wonder where I’m going, but doubt they’ll ever see me again.

10 years and 3 months ago I did the last line of cocaine in my life.