NOTE: This in response to a challenge about the night 
Leo decided to go to rehab.  This story is told from
Leo's POV. 


    
    I'm sitting on a stool in a bar, staring into my drink at two in the 
morning.  

    I'm simply staring at it.  I haven't taken a drink in at least ten 
minutes.    

    That's not to say I haven't tried.  I've raised my hand to my mouth 
several times.

    But, every time, my eyes become lost in the clear liquid before them.  

    I can't take my eyes off of it and, slowly, I lower my hand and the glass 
back to the countertop.

    My eyes never lose sight of that liquid though.   

    Yesterday, I would have downed this drink in two seconds flat.

    Yesterday, it was still my saving grace, the only thing in my life that 
could make my problems disappear, if only temporarily.

    Yesterday, it was my safe haven.

    Today, it is a pit of despair and I am drowning in it.

    I keep looking at that clear liquid and my chest begins to tighten.  

    I feel like I can't breathe.

    It feels like the first time you swim underwater and go really deep.  
You're holding you're breath and trying desperately to rise to the top.  

    It feels like you'll never get there; like the surface and that faint 
haze of light is a million unreachable miles away. 

    And, just when you think your lungs will burst, you reach the surface and 
your face becomes bathed in that sunlight you thought you'd never reach.

    It's just like that, except I haven't risen to the surface yet.

    As I sit here feeling like I am drowning, I realize that I have been for 
quite some time.

    This isn't something that just suddenly happened; I've been sinking 
deeper and deeper with every drink for years.

    I always thought that drinking would wash my problems away, at least numb 
me from them for the time being.

    But, for the first time, I'm realizing that drinking has only created 
more of them.

    I've distanced myself so far away from my wife and daughter that I can 
barely see them.  

    And I'm performing my job like a robot.  I go through the motions, barely 
conscious of the actions I am taking.

    Then there are the times where I snap at family, friends and coworkers 
for no apparent reason.  The smallest thing will set me off.

    Through it all, I always return to this stool and to the drink of my 
choice.

    It wasn't until today that I realized why my life had become so 
unmanageable, so unbearable.

    It's the alcohol.  

    If I have a good day, I treat myself to a drink.

    If I have a bad day, I drown my sorrows with a drink.

    If I'm sad, happy, angry, worried, or satisfied, I choose to drink.

    It rules my life.  

    It defines my life.

    And it's begun to define who I am.

    I can no longer deal with the every day happenings of life.

    When I can't cope, I run to alcohol for salvation.

    And that is why I can no longer cope with anything.  

    Every little problem seems colossal and without solution. 

    Alcohol cannot be my savior for every aspect of my life, but I have 
become so dependent on it to numb my pain; erase my problems.

    It's a vicious circle.  

    I go to it to help me, then I must deal with life when it cannot and, 
finally, I return to it to eradicate the disappointments of the day.

    Then a new day begins and it starts all over again. 

    That is why, as I sit here staring into this liquid that looks so 
deceptively harmless, I feel like I am drowning.

    So, what really made me come to this realization after all of this time?

    I wish I could say that it was the most recent of many moving speeches 
given to me about appreciating life.

    And I'm glad I don't have to say I learned the hardest of ways: through a 
wake-up call I couldn't ignore and with repercussions I would never be able 
to make right.

    No, it was nothing so significant, so earth-shattering.

    It was a simple sentence, uttered during small talk with the bartender as 
one of the patrons sat casually drinking and reading that day's newspaper.

    He shook his head sadly, as he perused the front page and said, "That's a 
damn shame.  A five year old boy drowned in a lake yesterday. He couldn't 
swim.  He didn't even have the power to save himself."

    That is the moment my eyes froze on the liquid before me and the word 
'drowned' ricocheted around my mind like a pinball.

    I am drowning.

    But, and here's how the story made such an impact, I am not powerless to 
save myself.

    I am not powerless against my temptation; my salvation in disguise.

    I can fight it.  

    Despite everything, I still know that much.

    I am fortunate; I have the power to save myself when so many do not.  

    I can rise to the surface.

    I can reach that place where the light shines.

~

    I walk down the hall and find room 233.  

    My hand pauses on the door and, for a moment, I contemplate turning 
around and leaving.

    But I take a deep breath and consider the dark alternative.

    Finally, I turn the doorknob, open the door and enter the room.

    I sigh in relief, proud that I have accomplished this first step.

    And I know that I am that much closer to that faint haze of light.



THE END

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