Method in the madness.
I don’t really know what it is about the bottle but it lures me. Not that it alleviates pain in any way, no sir. It merely erases it temporarily, deadens the senses when I’m drinking. So that when the head is clearer and the light of the day hits me, the sensation of grief is ten times worse. It’s out there in the open, while I’m trying to bury it deep inside, not wanting it to erupt from its buried cave. Mostly rum does the trick for me. But in the heat, it has to be beer. Nothing else. Rum can kill in such temperatures. Once, I finished half a bottle in June last. And then spent the worst night of my life. Retching, lying on the floor, feeling dead. Learnt a valuable lesson in the process, though, and now I restrict myself to the golden drink. Have a few cans and I’m effectively tipsy. More, and I’m flying.
But the trouble with alcohol is – it can make me feel worse about myself at times. Which is not a good thing, not something I want. The brain goes into overdrive, I think of everything bad that has happened in the past. I let go of the present, I stop thinking of the future. There is no such thing with chillies, at least. A lot of them might make me puke and cry, but that’s about it. Someone once told me that chillies, when eaten in large quantities, disrupt the digestive system and negatively affect the stomach. But I love the pain and hurt they bring, I have always liked inflicting pain on myself when things become rough. Once the sensation of the pain dies or you successfully manage to blur it away, there is a catharsis like nothing else. I feel better mentally, at least for some time. Until a bowl of chillies beckons to me again.
Song of the Day: Assassin (Muse)
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