“Relapse It’s funny, isn’t it? They say three weeks to break an addiction But then 498 days later, Such a big number… But then you find yourself on the bathroom floor. Then you find blood dripping down your wrist And the familiar feeling Of the cold metal against your fingertips. Again. You find yourself grabbing dull objects Pretending they are sharp. Seeing just how much damage you can cause. But that’s the problem. You’ve stopped caring, You’re testing yourself now. Can you get worse than last time? Is this going to be the time it ends you? Your counter is down to zero anyways, Not that number you were proud of. Again. You’re only hurting yourself, right? Nobody is going to find out this time, right? No they won’t find out. Again. But what about when they do? What’s your excuse going to be this time? And what do you do when they say ‘It’s okay It was just the one time right? Everyone relapses, right?’ But you didn’t just slip up. You fell 50 feet down the hole. Again. You started again And then you didn’t want to stop. It’s only been a few hours now And you look in the mirror. You crave it again. There’s no harm now, right? What’s the difference Just a few more now Right? Maybe just a little deeper this time. You lift your sleeve Only for a moment To wash off dried blood. You wouldn’t want to mix old and new. And it hits you. How did you get here? Again.”
— I didn’t mean to // Time to pick up the pieces (via laying-on-the-ocean-floor)
