Please don’t try to hold me right now. There isn’t enough room for me, my self pity and you on the bed. I’ve stopped rationalizing why I keep going back to drugs. There is no excuse. Nothing that makes it right. Nothing that will ever make it right. But if I hide myself and my secrets long enough, and keep my mind on that high, it’s as if the whole world stops. My parents sleep soundly knowing that I’m home and in bed. They don’t need to know it’s 3:39 am and I’m high on amphetamines. And don’t worry, I’ll cover up the bruises on my arms in the morning. People who I would call my closest friends don’t need to be worried about me. They don’t need to know im not responding to their text because I’m tying off my right arm in a public bathroom. And nobody tell my bank why I can’t seem to save a buck. But what do I tell myself at the end of the day? I don’t. I just react. I throw on my fasaude and do what I gotta do to feel my “normal”. I’m scared it’s never gonna stop. I’m scared the desire won’t ever go away. I’ve done the rehabs, put work into the twelve steps, listened to the shit at meetings. But none of it stops the feeling, like I’ve been punched in the gut, or my chest is caving in. My body and mind craves that relief so severe. I may throw the baggies away when they’re empty, or break the needles when they’re dull, but the chains never come off.
