I fall into this void in my head.
Most the time, it’s a riot
voices clawing at each other,
a cacophony of shame, doubt, and noise,
but this time…
This time, it’s different.
Silent.
Still.
Just me, alone, floating in the hollow.
No screaming. No cravings.
Not even the shadow of the bottle lurking behind me.
I don’t want to drink.
And for once
my addiction isn’t calling.
It’s not whispering temptations or
offering that old escape hatch I used to crawl through.
It’s just… quiet.
And somehow, that’s even more terrifying.
I slip into isolation like it’s a second skin.
Can’t pick up the phone.
Can’t make myself move.
I’m not in danger, not this time.
Just… still.
Numb.
Like the volume of the world got turned down
and I forgot where the dial is.
Then the fears slink in.
One missed call.
Just one.
And shame comes crashing in like a wave
They’re mad at me. I’m a disappointment. Again.
Suddenly the idea of calling back
feels like dragging chains uphill.
And I can’t explain it.
Can’t tell you why my brain locks doors
even when the house is burning.
Can’t admit I’m struggling,
because I already know what you’ll say:
“That’s exactly when you need to reach out.”
Yeah. I know.
God, I know.
But it’s not that simple.
It never is.
My throat closes up like it’s protecting me
from my own vulnerability.
And I’m left holding a phone I can’t dial,
scrolling past names I won’t tap,
hating myself a little more with every swipe.
I don’t need reminders.
I don’t need corrections.
I don’t need a lecture in “you should know better.”
Because I do.
I know better, I know the tools, I know the steps.
But knowing doesn’t mean I can move.
What I need
is someone to sit in this void with me—
no fixing, no preaching.
Just…
presence.
Compassion without the “but.”
Love without the lesson.
Because this silence?
It isn’t peace.
It’s a battleground without bullets.
And for once, I’m not drowning in addiction,
I’m not looking for a bottle to make it stop
but I’m still alone.
Still fighting.
And the worst part?
The void doesn’t hurt me.
You do.
When you forget I’m trying.
When you meet my pain with judgment
instead of just fucking holding space.