Twelve Noon – The End of the Lie
Many people believe that cutting glass is a controllable process. I believed it too. The truth is, a single tiny, invisible hairline fracture in the material is enough, and at the moment of the cut, it breaks in a completely different direction than I planned. I cannot control anything. The idea that things are in my hands is a mere illusion. This same illusion of control was the rock-solid lie upon which I built my entire former life.
Deep down, I was always an entirely ordinary, terrified person. The executive position, the responsible status, the suit, and the tie were merely my compensation mask—a constructed false self that I put on to hide the shattered reality. From this costume and these lies, I built my own internal prison. Behind the scenes, as the years passed, I slipped deeper and deeper, completely losing control over my life. Online poker, slot machines, and alcohol slowly took over, and I crossed my own moral boundaries one after another to finance my addictions. In my younger years, I simply funded my daily life from the family company’s petty cash. When I was trusted with the collected entry fees at an event, I drank and gambled away every last penny on slot machines in a single weekend. Later, when I worked for another company and earned an outstanding salary, the downward spiral didn’t stop; only the tools changed. I took out bank loans, my salary went entirely to the installments, while at night I lost everything at the online poker table. All along, I convinced myself that I had a handle on things, that I would win, and eventually pay everything back. It never happened that way. I was just bricking up that certain prison around myself thicker day by day.
Every single morning, I woke up with the stomach-churning feeling that today everything would collapse. Today it will be revealed who I truly am behind the resolute executive mask. I drank on a daily basis for seven years. Until what hour of the night, I often couldn't even remember, because I usually drank myself unconscious. The alcohol simply never left my system anymore. When I got into the car to head to work, seeing any police car would make my stomach tie in knots: what if they pull me over right now and make me blow the breathalyzer? The fact that I never got caught on the roads and never caused an accident was purely due to divine providence. On that particular day, I went to our partner company where I was the contact person. I did my job, I kept up appearances, but no suit could cover up seven years of destruction anymore. They smelled the alcohol on me. It was twelve noon, I was just about to leave their office, when they stopped me and made me blow the breathalyzer.
In that moment, everything fell to pieces, including myself. They escorted me out of the building. I brought shame upon my family, the company, and my colleagues. My father—who dedicated his entire life to his work—tried to protect me and find some solution even in the minutes of the scandal. I, on the other hand, already knew that it was all over. I didn't want to run anymore.
In the seconds of total annihilation, I felt a deep, corrosive shame. And a strange, massive, visceral relief. For years, I had built my own internal prison out of lies and compliance with others. When the breathalyzer detected the alcohol, the door of my prison swung open. I experienced the depths of hell and, at the same time, a divine intervention that I couldn't even grasp back then. God made a move for me that I was incapable of making. I had been burnt out for years, but due to my workaholism, I couldn't get out. I didn't dare confess even to myself that I no longer wanted to do this, so He gave me this too. I didn't have to play my false self any longer. I was definitively powerless against alcohol, against my own mind, and against myself. I threw my hands up and admitted my complete powerlessness. I surrendered to reality.
Today, when I stand in front of the grinder in the workshop, I no longer want to convince myself that I am in control. Nor that I am better than anyone else. I don't put on a mask, there are no more acted-out roles. I just grind the colored pieces of glass. The hum of the machine brings the silence I once found in alcohol. And I know the thought might arise: is this just cross-addiction? Another dependency? Maybe. But here, there are no more lies. It is just me, the glass, and the clean reality.
2649 days – one day at a time.
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