Keeping On Without You

Choruses of “It’s great to have you back, Oliver” rang in my head long after I left my parents’ house that night.

No, I didn’t storm out like I wanted to.

I gave them answers. I told the painful story that began it all. Relaying information of Addie’s mother, who I had no idea if she was still in the coma or not. They were shocked, saddened to learn the news. That was only the tip of the iceberg though, and I really didn’t want to witness their reaction to learning of something much worse than her mother’s coma.

We were around the dinner table. Mum made my favorite. Dad made some small talk in hopes of easing any tension that we all harbored from the news. He didn’t know that much worse news would be coming at him once I found my voice again.

I had to relive the memory of sitting on the front porch with Addie after she came home from the hospital the second day we were in Springfield. Images were playing in my eyes as I recounted what Addie had told me, the cancer in her knee growing into her spine; the cancer that was probably going to kill her.

At this again they were shocked. I watched tears well up in my mothers eyes as she could see how much pain I was in already, tears that she would shed for someone she hoped to call her own daughter one day. My father was quiet and supportive in silence.

Tom was the only one who didn’t say anything. He already knew the story. He knew how it ended.

Then I watched as my parents’ eyes searched around suddenly, frantic realization hitting them as they wondered why Addie wasn’t with me tonight.

And then I had to tell them she died. She went to visit her mother, and suddenly time ran out. All it took was one last fall and a night in the hospital to stop her from ever doing anything again.

I watched as my mother released those tears that were pent up behind her eyes, and I let some out, too. Tom’s face flushed as he took a sip of water and tried not to look at me. My dad was about on the same level as Tom, even if shock wasn’t enough to begin describing how he felt. How we all felt.

I left that night with extra-tight hugs from my parents, as well as my brother. Promises from my mother were made to deliver food to me at least once a day, if I would have it. She knew I wouldn’t be cooking anything for myself, because she probably knew I wouldn’t even be leaving my bedroom most hours of the day. They promised shoulders to cry on, ears to listen and hearts to help.

Tom left half an hour after we got back to my flat. We were sitting on the couch watching television and I knew he could tell I just wanted to be alone. I just wanted time in this flat to myself so that I could in turn remember all of the happy times I had here, and then remember that I would be making new ones, too.

“You call me if you need to, you hear?” he said in an enforced tone, like he was suddenly my older brother, the one who was supposed to watch over me. I guess I failed in that department, because I couldn’t even watch over myself at the moment.

“I will,” I said absentmindedly, not quite sure if I meant it or not. If I called him when I was drunk and needed him, would he be upset?

“I’m serious, Oliver. I’ll come back over if you need me to.”

“Alright, mum,” I said, the bitterness in my tone overtaking the tiny smile of sarcasm I cracked.

He sighed and stood up off the couch, his shoes already on and he let himself out with a tiny “goodbye.”

And now I was alone.

This was some sort of test.

I stared at the TV intently, trying to keep my mind off of what I really wanted. That strategy could only work for so long of course, seeing as how after only minutes of distracting myself with the colors and people on the screen I was bored.

Any minute now I thought that Tom would come back, only to find me in the kitchen with a bottle in my hand and that disappointing smile on my face. The same smile I wore every time I drank; it was one of “I can finally be happy for a few hours” and also one of “I hate doing this so often, but I’m not going to do anything about it.”

And then he would see, and he would really know. Then he would have his proof, and I wouldn’t even have to tell him.

Somehow I was thinking that would be so much easier than having to tell him. He could just see it, and confirm his suspicions. And then I could leave it up to him to tell everyone else of my own problems, because I was too scared to do so. I was terrified of admitting to everyone else that I had a problem, because I hated admitting it to myself as it was.

My strength to resist wore off in only minutes and I found myself wandering into the kitchen in search of relief. And you can bet I found it. Three, four, maybe more bottles just sitting there looking lovely as ever. I picked one and random and twisted the cap off, not feeling the need to find even a shot glass as I took a hearty swig.

I slid down to the floor, my back resting on the cupboards. So many nights I had spent in this exact position when Addie was at home in the States, and I was lonely and alone here. Even more nights on tour I had spent relatively close to this, or at least achieving the same feeling by the end of the night.

Tears were escaping my eyes as I knew I was letting Addie down. I was letting myself down. What I was doing now certainly was the opposite of getting help. And I promised I would get help. I wrote her a letter saying I would fix myself so that I could be happy again, because I wanted to be happy for her. I wanted to continue on with beautiful memories of her, but still find the time to have my own life without her.

And the only thing I was doing now was coming closer and closer to killing myself with this drink that had become a drug.

I had no idea where to start when it came to getting help. But of course as my mind got fuzzier and fuzzier the explanations I came up with sounded all the more ludicrous.

Starting with telling Tom would be good.

Or just checking myself right into rehab would be another good idea.

Either way was going to be hard enough. And either way ended up with me in rehab getting help, and hopefully getting through this.

The only thing I had to pray for was that I could stand it there for as long as it would take to help me. I knew I wouldn’t like it. I’d want to leave right away and go back to the same habits I was perfecting at the moment.

My eyes were closed before I knew it though, and every idea I had thought of was out the window as I drifted into the world of unconsciousness.

***

My eyes opened again to stray bits of winter light coming through the window in the kitchen. My unadjusted pupils stung as I squinted, my head hitting the cupboard as I realized my surroundings were not where I thought I was. During sleep I would have assumed I was in my bed of course, but waking up to the cold floors of the kitchen was just another reminder that I had a problem. And everything I did last night was not going to help that problem. It was then I realized the only thing I seemed fit to do was fuel the fire and aid my addiction.

I rubbed my tired eyes that were swollen from tears of broken promises from the night before. The morning light was too bright for my taste, as I closed my eyes and laid my head back down on the shameful tiles of the kitchen.

A soft cough, just loud enough to call my attention had my eyes snapping open. I sat up too quickly and looked around in a panic, hitting my head again while I cursed and searched out where the noise came from. A head rush blurred my vision and I saw stars, leaning up against the cupboards for a moment.

My vision was back, as well as a monstrous headache, and I saw Tom sitting at the island looking over at me. His face didn’t hold much emotion and more panic grew inside of me as I looked back at him with a pale face.

He didn’t have a key. My brain was slow. How did he get in here?

“You didn’t lock the door after I left, did you?” he asked, his voice heavy and slow as he looked at me, blinking a few times while he took in what I must have looked like.

An empty bottle of whiskey laying on its side next to me. A hangover more than apparent as I sat there, the light feeling brighter and my head hurting more every second that Tom scrutinized me.

I shook my head slowly, shaking the hair out of my face. “No… I guess I didn’t.”

“Is this what you were going to tell me, to tell everyone?” he exclaimed, his voice heating up as I could tell he was both disappointed and past upset. Oh, he knew. He had witnessed it. Just like I had feared.

I stared back at him in dumb silence while my mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

“I came to bring you breakfast,” Tom said, his voice still edgy but with less anger and shock in it now as he gestured to the takeout bag sitting near him on the island. It was from my favorite breakfast restaurant only a block away. He knew just what to order. And the smell only made me want to vomit as my head pounded.

I tried to take all of this in but it was getting too hard now. I got what I wanted. Tom had his suspicion confirmed, and I didn’t have to do a thing.

And somehow I felt horrible.

After more minutes of silence I came up with something to stutter out. “I-I were tryin’ to come up with a way to tell you. I were gonna tell everyone else, too, if I could handle it.”

“I think this says it all, Oliver,” Tom scoffed, rubbing his face with his hands. I could tell he was trying not to get too upset with me. I was wounded enough as it was; having my brother angry with me would only add to the worthlessness I currently felt. “You’re better than this, Oli. You’ve all of us, your family, your friends. You’ve support and all these great people who would do anything for you to not do this to yourself. Yeah, you used to drink a lot, but now! Oliver, this is what you used to do times ten. You’re drinkin’ on your own and I…”

He was launching into a rant and I was beginning to see how upsetting this was to him, how upsetting it would be to see anyone you loved like this.

And this is why I never told Addie.

“I told you I needed help, Tom!” I shouted, anger rising within me as I tried to defend myself somehow.

“So let us help you, Oliver. Let us help you find help,” he said, trying to calm down as his face got red.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I choked out. It was too easy to keep on like this and drink away any pain I felt.

It was quiet again. And then he erupted.

“Can’t you see how you’re hurting yourself?! How you’re hurting everyone else because of this? We’ve all noticed, Oliver. But we just thought it would go away, that you were havin’ problems with Addie or somethin’. But ‘s been goin’ on for a long time, Oliver. And we’ve all been wondering when you would see how badly you have it, and want to fix it. Oliver, you’re going to end up ruining your life--or worse, end it!”

A tear slipped out of his eye and I was soon to follow.

“I know I’m hurting everyone. And I know I’m hurting myself. And it’s been going on for over a year now. But I can’t just stop, Tom. I can’t just give up what’s been getting me by!”

This was a pathetic argument. I was sitting on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of whisky, a complete mess while my brother sat at the island with his disappointment and hurt radiating off of him in waves.

“This hasn’t been ‘getting you by’, Oliver. It’s been makin’ everything worse, can’t you see? Can you deny that things have just gotten worse these past few months that you’ve been getting worse?” He was shaking his head, standing up from the island stool and walking over towards me.

He had a point. He was right.

I had essentially made everything worse by trying to feel better about how my life had taken a turn for the worse. I made bad choices because I didn’t think. I dealt with those choices in the way that only led to more. And then relationships started suffering because I stopped caring. And I didn’t care that I stopped caring as long as I could forget about it for a while. It was a vicious cycle.

I had myself convinced that no matter what bad things or choices I made, it would be okay because I always had something to fall back on. As long as I had my drinks, it would all be fine.

“Did you ever tell Addie?” Tom asked, squatting down next to me and speaking in a soft tone.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Just as well she was the one who kept me from drinking when I were home. And she was the reason I drank when I was on the road.”

Tom reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder for some sort of comfort. It didn’t really help, but the gesture meant at least he was willing to be there for me. I needed that.

“I loved her so fucking much.”

And I needed her.

You hear that, Addie? I fucking need you.