Too Much

                                      “Too Much” by Kay Gill
         As you moan into the toilet I fight the urge to smash your head into it.  Instead I hold your hair back as you throw up violently.  I wipe the tears off my face and sigh.  I don’t know why I even hope you’ll stop this madness.  I don’t know why I waste my breath every night praying that things will change.

         After you have puked for what seems like an eternity I help you into bed.  You roll away from me without saying “thanks” or “I love you”.  I slowly walk into the messy kitchen.  I rinse out the empty beer bottles next to the sink.  Then I spend another ten minutes walking around the house, picking up all the other empties strewn carelessly around the house.

         I shake my head and take the sharpest knife out of the silverware drawer.  I stare at it and hold it close.  I take it with me into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.  I'm a mess.  My hair is tangled and my skin is blotchy.  My eyes are bloodshot and have bags under them from lack of sleep.  A waterfall of tears cascades down my cheeks.  My knees buckle and I slide to the cold, tiled floor.  I can’t take it anymore  Love isn't supposed to hurt like this.  I take the shiny knife and twirl it around in my hand.  It glistens in the light.  I press it against the inside of my arm.  I hold it there, pushing gently at first, and then a little harder, until I see a tiny drop of blood.  I feel the sting after a few moments.  I drop the knife and curl up into a ball.  After a while, I stop crying.  I feel a little better.  I wash the blood off the knife and put it in the sink.  I crawl into bed next to you and stare into the darkness until I fall asleep.

         I wake up the next morning to you talking in your sleep.  I lay quietly for a few minutes, trying to decipher what you are saying.  But, it’s impossible.  There are only occasional words mixed in with your moans and groans.  I give up and get out of bed.

         “Good morning” I hear you say as I reach the doorway.

         “Good morning.” I walk back over to the bed “How are you feeling?”

         “What do you mean?” You frown.

         “You were really sick last night.” I sit down next to you and gently stroke your hair, “I was really worried about you.”

         You brush my hand away and look at me with disgust. “Don’t start this shit again.  I don’t need you to worry about me.  You’re not my fucking mom.”

         “Okay, I’m sorry.”  I stand up and walk out of the room.  I close my eyes tightly, tears begging for release.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  I knew you’d only get mad.  I always do that, I always open my big mouth.  God, I hate myself!

         
                I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.  I look horrible.  The stress and lack of sleep are beginning to age me more than my twenty years.  I slowly brush my hair until my arm gets tired.  I feel like I am moving in slow motion.  I stare into the mirror at my eyes.  They look so sad, even to me.

         I slip into the shower and close my eyes as the warm water dances on my body.  I feel so alone.  I miss you; the old you, the man I fell in love with.  I reminisce back to the day we first met.  You were the most beautiful man I had ever seen.  When I looked into your eyes I knew there was something special about you.  We were both hanging out with mutual friends at the park just outside of town.  We started talking, and took off on our own.  We walked over to my favorite spot in the woods.  It was always so peaceful there, right next to the river.  It was where I always went when I needed to relax or be alone. After we got there you played your guitar and sang quietly.  I wrote in my notebook.  We laughed and talked and you even wrote a song for me. You were the only person I ever shared my special place with.  That was almost three years ago.
         
                A rush of cold air swarms into the shower.  I open my eyes and see you standing outside the half opened curtain.  You smile at me and wink.  I smile back.  The daydream softened me.  I can never stay mad at you, no matter how hard I try.

         You jokingly dance like a stripper as you take off your clothes.  I laugh as I watch.  You are still so beautiful to me.  Your long brown hair falls just below your shoulders; your deep brown eyes remind me of a gentle deer.  Your skin is pale and as soft as silk.

         You climb into the shower with me and kiss me hungrily.  I melt into your arms as you hold me tight.  We make love as the warm water caresses our bodies.
 
         We get out of the shower and dry off quickly in the cold air.  I wince as the towel brushes against the part of my arm where I cut myself last night.  You notice and glance at my arm.  I try to hide the cut, but you see it.  You skeptically glance from my cut to my eyes and then back to my cut again.

         “That looks sore.  What happened?”
         “I cut it on a nail yesterday when I was working at the farm.”  I answer quickly.  I know it is a horrible excuse the minute it escapes my mouth.  I stare at the cut.  It's so damn ugly.  I feel so guilty for doing it, but it’s too late now.  After you leave the bathroom I glance at my other arm.  Most of the scars on that arm are fading; most of them are almost unnoticeable.  I am usually more careful when I cut myself.  I usually only do it hard enough to calm me down, to stop the pain.

         I don’t remember when I started cutting myself.  It’s not like I do it all the time or anything.  I only do it when I can’t control my feelings.  They overwhelm me.  I panic, I can’t breathe and I have to do something to make myself feel better.  I scare myself when I get that upset.  I have to do something.  I hate doing it, but I have to.

         I walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.  When I open the refrigerator I am relieved to see that you haven’t opened the new case of beer yet.  I quickly cook breakfast and bring yours into the living room where you are watching TV.
         “Wow.  That looks good” You say and quickly start eating.  You pause after a few minutes and look at me, “Do you want to hang out tonight? We can rent movies or something?”
         “Sure that sounds good.  There are some new movies out that I want to see” I reply.

         We eat breakfast and talk for a while.  We have so much fun when you haven’t been drinking.  I love just sitting here and talking with you.  It’s times like this when I remember why I love you so much.  I have the day off from work so I don’t have much to do.  You don’t have a job right now so you have absolutely nothing you have to do.

         “I have a few errands to run, so I can stop at the movie store on the way back.  Is there anything specific you want me to get?” I ask.
         “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you get.  Nothing too girly though” You say smiling.
         I leave and run my errands.  It takes me longer that I planned, but I still get home by mid evening.  I lucked out and both of the movies I had wanted to see were in.  I am excited that we are going to spend some quality time together.  It’s been a while.

         “I’m home” I yell when I walk in the door.  I pause for a moment waiting for your reply.  But, you don’t answer me.  The house is completely silent.
         I set the movies down on the kitchen table and walk around the house.  I look for you in every room even though I already know you’re gone.  Maybe you walked to the store.  Or maybe you ran over to the neighbors for a minute.  I sit down in the living room and turn on the TV.

         After an hour I know you aren’t going to be home any time soon.  I put one of the movies in and lay down on the couch.  I am so damn disappointed.  You actually acted like you wanted to spend time with me today.  I can be so damn naïve at times.

         I awake at about 1:30 in the morning by a loud thud.  I jump out of bed and run into the living room.  You are sprawled out on the couch.  Your friend is standing at the door.
         “He’s not feeling so well” Your friend tells me. “He took some pills before we left and he drank a little too much whiskey.”
         I look at your friend and shake my head.  He stares back at me with an expressionless face.  It frustrates me that it doesn’t even bother him to see you like this all the time.  I am so damn angry I don’t dare open my mouth.  I am starting to hate your friends almost as much as I hate you.

         Your friend leaves quickly and I am left with your drunk ass.  As I step closer I notice you have puke in your hair and on the front of your shirt.  Your hair is tangled and you smell like a damn brewery.  Your eyes open but you can’t hold them open for very long.  I see that you are about to fall off the couch and I move quickly to stop you.  But, just as I reach my arms out, I jump back.  I want you to fall.  But, you don’t.  You roll back over towards the back of the couch, smearing vomit all over the cushion.

         I can feel that I am about to lose it.  I start to shake.  I don’t understand why you keep doing this.  You are going to end up in the hospital one of these days.  And you’re right; I’m not your mother.  How did it become my job to take care of you?
         “Get up!” I yell, bending down close to you, “You puked all over yourself.  You have to rinse it off.”
         “Leave me alone.” You answer “I have a headache.”
         “No shit you have a headache.  Why would you take pain pills and then go out drinking?”
         “Shut up.  I don’t want to talk about this right now.  You are only making my headache worse.”  You roll over and look at me.
         “You can’t keep doing this all the time.  I love you.  I don’t want to see you like this anymore.”

         You don’t reply and I sit down in the chair next to the couch.  I try to gain composure.  You look so miserable.  I can’t let you lay there in your own puke.  I roll you over and notice you’ve passed out.  I lift off your shirt and get a wet washcloth out of the bathroom. I kneel down on the floor and tenderly wipe off the vomit from your face and hair.  You moan as I roll you over so you don’t fall of the couch.  I watch your naked chest as it rises and falls slowly.  Suddenly you start moaning a lot.  I try to get up quickly, but not quick enough.  You throw up all over me.

         The smell fills my nostrils and I know I am about to throw up myself.  I run into the bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet.  I throw up violently.  I wish I had someone to hold my hair back.  But, I am alone.  I’m always alone.

         The tears come again.  I should have left.  You don’t want me around anymore.  I was so damn stupid for thinking you actually wanted to spend time with me today.  My body is shaking again.  I want to stop crying.  I want to not care about you anymore.  I can’t stop.  I run into the kitchen and search for a knife.  I am crying so hard everything is blurry.  I rip off my clothes and jump into the shower with the knife.  I frantically rinse off all the vomit.  I lean against the wall of the shower and press the knife against my arm.  My hands are shaking so hard I am having trouble holding it steady.  I press gently at first and then apply more pressure until I feel the sting.  Almost instantly I feel a little better.  I can literally feel the tension, the anger, the pain slip away.  I feel physically drained.  I let myself slip down to the shower floor.  I lay there until the water turns cold.
 
         I wake up the next morning on the bathroom floor.  I am wearing only my robe.  I get up and wash my face.  I walk into the kitchen and notice it is already two in the afternoon.  I never sleep this late.
         “Good morning sleepyhead.  I thought you were never going to get up.”  You say.
         “Why didn’t you move me from the bathroom floor?” I ask.
         “You looked comfortable.”  You take a long gulp of beer “Want one?”
         “Yeah, let’s get completely wasted at two in the afternoon.” I reply sarcastically.
         “Come on.  Drink one.  It will loosen you up.  You’ll see; it makes everything so much better.”
         “I don’t want to drink right now.” I sit down on the chair next to you.
         “I figured you wouldn’t.” You stare at me for a moment.  You sway back and forth in your chair.  I can tell you are already drunk. “You would be so much easier to get along with if you were more like me.”
         “More like you!  Why in the hell would I want to be more like you?”  I am surprised by the words streaming out of my mouth.  I feel my body shaking.  But, this time I am filled with anger.
         “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
         “You are nothing but a fucking loser.  You can’t handle the world without being drunk.  Look at you.  I don’t want to be anything like you.” 
         “Like you’re so much better.” You scream at me. “All you ever do is cry.  That’s why you have no friends.  Everyone’s tired of watching you feel sorry for yourself.  To tell you the truth I am sick of it too.  I’m really starting to hate you.  And p.s. if you are gonna start crying, go somewhere else. I don’t want to hear it.”

         I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  You struck a nerve.  I’m trying to be strong.  I am trying to hold it together.  I don’t think I can.  I turn and run into the kitchen.  I grab a knife and run into the bathroom.  I press the knife against my arm.  I don’t stop when I see a drop of blood.  I don’t feel any better.  I hear you stumbling through the kitchen.  I wince as you slam open the bathroom door.  But, I don’t stop cutting.  I am not going to stop until I feel better.

         “What in the hell are you doing?” You ask as you stare at me.
         I close my eyes and pretend you are not there.  I concentrate on my breathing and try to calm myself down.  I feel the pain from the knife, but all of the other pain is still there too.  I open my eyes and you grab the knife out of my hand.  My body is still trembling, and I don’t feel any better.  You move towards me and wrap your arms around me.  I struggle out of them.  I have to leave.  I run into the living room and grab my car keys.

         “Where are you going?” You chase after me.
         “It’s over.” I say quietly “I can’t do this anymore.  It’s not worth it.”
         “But, I love you.” You try to hug me again.

         I push you away and get into my car.  I lock the doors and stare at you for a minute before I start the car.  I watch as tears roll down your cheeks.  I want to hug you, to tell you I still love you.  But, I can’t.  I have to leave.  I have to learn to love myself again.