1. cgriff128

    cgriff128 New Member

    Dec 11, 2006
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    My Contest Entry...

    Discussion in '"I never believed in hell"' started by cgriff128, Dec 12, 2006.

    I never believed in Hell. I never believed in Heaven either. I never believed in purgatory, saints or sinners. I never believed in angels or demons, Jesus or Satan; but most importantly, I never believed in sobriety and that was why I could honestly say I am a broken man.

    My name is Christian Jones, and I am a lost cause. I have tried every kind of drug of every kind of sort, I have sipped the finest of wines and I have chugged the strongest of liquors. My name is Christian Jones, and I am a lost cause.

    It wasn’t until I was sitting in the circle with the other men and woman who were sort of like me when I realized I had no chance at ever leading a successful life. I had no chance in peacefully sleeping in Heaven and I had no chance of rotting in Hell. I had no chance of becoming sober, no chance of becoming normal, I had no chance at all.

    As I sat there I wanted to cry, but my tear ducts had already shed so many tears that they were virtually exhausted. I wanted to take a deep breath and relax, but my lungs were so toxic and polluted that I couldn’t even sigh without coughing profusely. I didn’t know what to do but just sit there…sit there, and sit there, and sit there.

    As I slowly began to snap back to reality I noticed that it was almost my turn to tell my story as a rotund balding man took his seat, leading to the woman sitting next to him standing up and introducing herself. This was pointless and it angered me to think that I was being forced to participate in such foolishness. I could only assume that they thought there was still hope for me, perhaps there was for the others, but not for me.

    I just wanted to leave and go buy a big bottle of Whisky and chug it down as fast I could and pass out in an alleyway and never wake up again. I wanted to embrace the darkness that I was only denying by sitting in this room, in this circle. I wanted to jump into the darkness and never come back, I didn’t want to look before I would leap, I just wanted to leap and leave it at that, no hesitation about it.

    I was sick of the vomiting and the pills and the cramps and headaches, yet if I were to live the rest of my life I would have to deal with those unpleasant side effects. That’s why I refuse to live, yet my body refuses to die. My soul has nothing left, yet my body pushes me to get up every single morning and make it through another day. I want to die, but something within me is not quite ready to settle in with the darkness, and that I must reluctantly accept.

    This is what I get for throwing away my life, even when I wasn’t aware that I was doing it. Now, I just want to dispose of myself completely, and that’s when karma comes back to bite me. This is my punishment for all the crimes, the profanities, the betrayals; this is my punishment as if my life wasn’t punishment enough.

    I look around at the dismal faces surrounding me before noticing I’m next to introduce myself. I surprisingly put the effort into mauling over what I am going to say, as if it actually mattered or something. These people don’t care what I have to say and they don’t care that I am being tormented, because were all in the same boat. The only difference is that they have a destination, a goal, an X to mark the spot. While I may have an X as well, my X is right across the heart.

    I run my swallen, cut up fingers across my messy brown hair as I lick my chapped lips and prepare my introductory speech. I’m nervous despite the fact that nobody will be listening, but I never was much of a public speaker. I feel like Abraham Lincoln getting ready to deliver the Gettysburg address, although I feel more like the address itself then the great man that was Abraham Lincoln. I feel like an insignificant piece of parchment, not like the inspirational man who made it come to life. That’s when it begins to hit me, a stroke of creativity rather then insanity; putting the proverbial pen to the paper I begin to see a purpose in something.

    These people may not want to hear what I have to say, but by God they will listen. I am a man with very little time left on this earth, a few years at best, and I am going to at least command the attention of the people who are either gunning for sobriety or awaiting death. I am going to impress every person in this room with my words today, from my introduction to my conclusion; they will hear what I have to say because I’m sick of being just another morose person in this depressing rehabilitation center.

    I don’t know why this feeling of such determination is overcoming me but I like it and I want it stay within me. I wonder if it has something to do with my thoughts on Lincoln, and how great and inspirational he was. It compels me to want to find out more information on him, on why he was such an inspirational leader and what his Gettysburg address stated. It’s funny how a simple analogy can change a man’s mindset, however I am now determined. Sobriety may be a long road, but as of now I wanted to read, I wanted to read about inspirational people and not just Lincoln, I wanted to read and read and read until the break of dawn.

    That’s when I realize, that in order to read I have to simply…keep on living, and that’s exactly what I want to do. As the man next to me finally takes his seat I stand up with my head held high before clearing my throat and introducing myself. This is my time, I may still have to embrace that horrible darkness, but this time there’s a light at the end of my tunnel, a destination point, an X that has moved itself from my heart, guiding me into the paradise that is sobriety.

    “I never believed in Hell until I started to believe in Heaven, I never believed in heaven, until I well, believed in myself. My name is Christian Jones…and I will NEVER believe in hell.”

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