My first demon I found the first time I heard about my father’s adultery. And then, even though, at the time, I wasn’t entirely aware of it, at the bottom of a bottle of warm chardonnay. Thirteen at the time, a journey commenced into after school binges, slurping tepid reds and whites atop our roof, and in the woods behind our house; dabbling in the gateway which- as they, the government and all the other collective thinking types, say- led me to branch out into those smelly mushrooms and, on a few occasions, tripping the light fantastic with Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Those latter activities were more or less short-lived dead ends. Alcohol was my drug of choice.
And choose it I did. Without a care in the world, and I thought of my father with another woman. I take gulps of Stoli and try to blank it out, an eraser to some crinkled notepad scribbled in permanent ink. But I cannot. It will always be. I thought it then, and I think it now- this demon will either bring me to the door that leads to another path- a path detached, untainted, anew- or it will destroy me.