The Sour Taste of Gall

The Sour Taste of Gall
May 29, 2025

“I was sick—vomiting and retching, bent over the toilet, the sour taste of gall clinging to my throat like a bitter reminder of the night before. My body convulsed, empty yet still desperate, just like my soul. The blood rushed to my head, pulsing behind my eyes as the room tilted, spinning in a drunken haze of regret. I had been drinking for days. My stomach was hollow, my heart even more so. But the bottle was still full, waiting for me. It always was.”

“I hated how much I needed it. I hated that I couldn’t stop. But I told myself the same lie I had whispered a hundred times before: ‘Just one more sip, just one more night, and then I’ll be done.’ Yet the truth was as bitter as the gall in my throat—there was no ‘one more.’ There was only the pull of the bottle, the weight of my shame, and the inescapable cycle that held me captive.”

“This was my life—or at least, I thought it was. But I didn’t know then that freedom was coming. I couldn’t see it yet, but grace was already reaching for me through the darkness. Soon, the bitter taste of gall would give way to the sweet taste of hope.”