Ghosts

I see ghosts everywhere. They’re always lurking in shadows and around corners waiting to surprise and horrify me. For me, those ghosts are from all the bad things I did drinking. My ghosts aren’t in scary old houses, they’re all around me. My ghosts are in the Yaris, the car I drive drunk for hours. They’re at South Cove Park where I had my last relapse, in my bedroom where I got drunk many times, the Thornton’s where I stopped when I was driving drunk with Kurt in the car, my blue shirt I wore the night I blacked out in Chicago, and so much more. I hate these ghosts but they have a purpose. That purpose is to remind me of how awful it was when I was drinking, just to make sure I never forget.