[ CW ] Show me an alcoholic , without using the word alcohol ( or related words ) .

He knew it was going to be a heavy day. Not in the literal sense, but as in with the weight of all his troubles. He woke up with a splitting headache, his teeth ground down to the bone from the restless night of sleep. He sits up slowly, slowly, sluggish, debating on whether or not to get out of bed. He turns and sees the remainder of his sole reason for continuing his existence. Just a little to get me out of bed, just like every morning. 
 Waiting for the bus, going to his job, the bane of his existence. If it were up to him, he would quit his job and focus on his dream: painting. But needed that money for other things. He wished he could still drive, but he managed to fuck that up. The bus arrived late, ca n't wait to get chewed out by my supervisor again, he thought to himself. He could n't handle that without some more. 
 Lunch time at work, everything is spinning. He did n't pace himself this morning, it was going to be one of those days. The nice girl who worked the front desk talked to him, but in his condition, he managed to say exactly the wrong thing. Her face grew bright red and she walked away, probably never to return. Just like his wife. He ran to the bathroom to finish the rest before his shift resumed. 
 He stumbled off the bus. There were messages on the answering machine: Three. First message, first cup. The bills were late, and that mortgage was vastly underpaid. Second message, second cup. The lawyer called, he needed to make an appointment, and send that payment. Third cup, third payment. Wife wants to visit with the kids this weekend. That's when the tears started. And the vomit. 
 The rest of the night was unmemorable. He filled up a recycle bin while watching re-runs and crappy pornos from the 90s. He passed out on the floor around midnight, hoping he would n't wake up to tomorrow.
