the high had run out but my mind hadn't kicked back on yet. i don't remember the day it was but i remember thinking, "christ, i've been out all week." things were still really hazy. i still moved weird. talked weird. my memories don't make much sense, like many memories i made around that time.
i was lying on my couch. i had a blanket tacked up over my window, casting the room with dull brown and yellowish light. i don't know exactly what i was feeling—the reason i used that drug was because it muted what i felt—but it wasn't good. if i had more mental energy maybe it would have been rage. maybe sorrow, maybe i would have collapsed to the floor in grief. whatever it was, it was bad, and it was aimed squarely at me.
i got up and decided i wasn't going to keep feeling this way. i'm gonna get it out. i got a trash bag and walked around my house, collecting empty beer bottles, wine bottles, vodka, whiskey, some mason jars, some old cups i didn't care about. i dragged it to my front door, the sound of the bottles clinking together piercing my eardrums already, i pulled the thing down my porch and into my yard, and started walking.
i found a grassy spot where there were abandoned rocks left in a pile. i think the rocks were used for some construction something or other and the extras were just left there. i set the trash bag down and reached in.
i threw the first bottle with very little strength. i think i was just seeing how it felt. but when it hit the rock and cracked into a dozen pieces, i realized that it felt good. so i got another one, and i threw it harder. and harder. and harder. i started throwing them with such force and such little thought that i could feel each movement hurting deep into my shoulder. i grabbed the rim of the trash bag, hoisting it over my shoulder with both hands. i walked to the rock pile, crunching broken glass under my shoes, and i slammed the bag down on the rocks. it was one of the loudest noises i've ever heard. the kind of sound that makes you think it could leave permanent damage. and i did it again. with each successive hit i could feel the bag losing its shape, as the bottles broke and shattered. the bag started tearing apart, the glass shards inside reducing the plastic to tatters. the pieces began slipping out of the enlarging holes in the black plastic until there was almost nothing left in the bag.
i left the bag there, walked home, and slept.