He used to be a dashing young man, handsome and smart.
Until that fateful day, he had his whole life ahead of him.
It started one mild evening ten years ago.
He had finished a long day at school, and had visited his friends.
One of these friends had managed to put together a score.
They couldn't decide what to spend it on, they argued.
In the end, they figured it would be fun to get drunk.
So off they went, down to the off license.
Smiles and laughter all the way. What it is to be young.
They managed to pick up a case of lager, and they set off to the park.
They had a good night out, messing around on the play park.
In the field, they sat and drank, or ran about, shouting n beating each other.
Such fun, such joy, such recklessness.
Such nights end up bad. Sickness. How funny it was to watch.
Bent over double, world spinning, chucking up through your nose.
And then theres the hangover. Complete agony.
Eventually, they realized it was fun, but also cool, to drink.
before they knew it, they were drinking every weekend.
Good times shared, relationships deepened, hard laughs.
They were growing up, together, enjoying the beverages they took turns to buy.
Eventually they left school. They all got themselves jobs.
Except for our guy. He struggled to find any jobs.
The weekly drink with his friends turned to monthly.
He never knew what made them act the way they did.
He woke up in a strange place. distant and cold.
His head felt like it would explode.
Heavy eyes, heavy feet, heavy heart.
He whispered, where am I? Any louder, and he would feel sick.
Then he remembered. 48 hours earlier, he stocked his dilapidated fridge.
A carton of milk, a carrot, and two cases of lager.
He stayed at home, for two days, and drank.
its like this every day. all day. to excess.
Every other day its in extreme excess.
Except theres no one laughing.
No one to hand you another lager after you puke.
He stopped eating properly 5 years ago.
His metabolism was mullered to shreds.
Alcohol was too filling for him.
He at bread, every now and then.
Breakfast was a warm, flat can of lager, from the night before,
Quite possibly a cigarette butt floating in there somewhere.
Lunch was a fag and an ice cold glass of brew.
Dinner was nearly the same. Except he might nibble some bread.
40 cigarettes a day, and counting.
Lager is his water. Lager is his food. Nicotine is the air he breaths.
Beer cans and ashtrays littered his flat.
he had one chair, for him. seeing as he never saw a soul.
No one wanted to. If you removed the chair, it would be cleanest part in the room.
he had no bed. He slept where he drank, and he ate where he slept.
He has nothing. what started out as a laugh with good friends,
turned into an obsession. Then it was addiction.
He can't not drink.
Once, his father had told him that alcohol and a night out is good laughs.
But life doesn't allow you to have the best of both worlds.
Alcohol destroys you. Don't waste your life on fun nights out.
You need to work. And work hard. Earn your living. Pay your way.
You need to make a balance. "Work hard play hard", as they say.
Set your life on track, don't stray that way.
As soon as you have done that, only then can you play hard.
