Bereavement brought with it belligerent and bellicose behavior, bred bloodcurdling rage and burgeoning blackness of mood. I no longer felt buoyant, beautiful or brave as before. Laughter became tears and brilliance became darkness as my bitterness grew. I was broken and so stopped believing in all that used to be good, opting to nourish myself instead with big bites of bad. Bacchus baited and bewitched me, bewildered, belittled and betrayed me. He became by best friend nonetheless. And so began my backward descent into the bowels of a boundless and both brutal and beatific despair, via a bottomless bottle, where bedlam awaited.