I’m not 100% sure how to start this message, but I guess I should start with day one.
I, (45m), have been a suffering alcoholic ever since my wife passed from cancer in 2021. My alcoholism reached the point to where my daughter moved out with her boyfriend the moment she turned 18, she probably would have left sooner if not for the legality of being a minor. I wouldn’t consider myself to be abusive, perhaps a little neglectful as I’ve spent most of my nights passing out wherever on the floor in a pile of my own puke for the past two years, relying on the little savings I have left for my booze and a small amount of groceries every other week. I barely manage to pay the bills and electricity has gotten shut off quite a few times now. I know what you’re thinking, I’m a shitty father. I deserve those opinions, and now I wish I could turn back time more than ever.
It started about a month ago when I was drunkenly stumbling home from the bar. Usually I would drive home, but that particular night I had managed to lose my keys in my drunken stupor. I had stopped for a moment to vomit in a bush, kneeling over and blowing chunks with none other than blood itself. This should’ve been a wake up call, or at least should’ve signified for me to see a doctor, but let’s be honest, what alcoholic really wants to give up their booze? I wiped my mouth and stood up to a man, probably mid 50’s with severe aging in the face and wrinkles surrounding his eyes, standing directly across the street from me. My first thought was he was walking home from the bars as well as we have a strip in my small town of purely different varieties of bars.
Sadly, that wasn’t the case. The man looked at me directly in my eyes and for the first time since my wife died, I felt true fear. A wave of emotions hit me at once, nausea, guilt, fear, a melancholic feeling in my gut and soul. His eyes looked to have seen a million souls, life and death itself. I’ve never seen a man with that look in his eyes before. “31 days. Your end is nye.” the man yelled across the street, his voice hoarse and yet stern all the like. At this point I assumed he really was just another drunk fellow finding enjoyment in fucking with me late at night. I gave the man a jolly fuck you and kept on my walk home.
Since then I’ve seen the man 31 times. Mainly walking home from the bars, but as his countdown got lower and lower I started staying in. Locking the doors, shutting the blinds, I even attempted to get in touch with my daughter who, reasonably, sent me straight to voicemail. Even with locking my doors, windows, and blocking almost every single entrance to my house, the man still will appear and continue with his countdown every single night. One night it went as far to me waking up in my bedroom with him leaning over me, whispering to me that I have 10 days left.
I didn’t know what to do, or to expect. My drinking has gotten worse, the only times leaving my house to be to get more bottles of liquor from the corner store. I’ve continued coughing blood and now have severe abdominal pain. I know you’re probably wondering why I haven’t gone to the police. Truthfully, I don’t think they’d take me seriously. To them I’m simply scum walking the Earth. I’ve tried almost everything I can, I’ve asked the man what he means, how he keeps finding me and getting into the house, even begging.
The reason I’m writing this now is the man paid a visit to me last night. “It all ends tomorrow. Repent.” Now, as I use the little bit of energy I have left, I want to warn you. Death himself is real, and if he ever pays a visit to you: try to fight your death. If not for my own foolish drinking, I would have a daughter. A life. Appreciate the little things. Because Death himself paid me a visit, and now as my skin is yellow, my vomit and piss are the only warm blanket I have, I have learned to regret my past, and I only can pray God will forgive me.