Leave Me at the Altar

No regrets, they said. recovering heroin addict afflicted by life.

[deadsensescompany]

Heroin Eyes

“Heroin Eyes”

To all the kids with shattered lives Who turn into bitter adults with heroin eyes And look for solutions to numb all the pain Hurting themselves with nothing to gain To all the adults who’s screams fall on deaf’s ears Who’s childhood traumas develop into fears And look for solutions to find some peace of mind Destroying their wills before they are signed There is no drug nor pill known to man To escape or erase our torment at hand Everyone of us is the same in the end Searching for happiness and comfort in friends There is no way to forget the haunting of faces Without subjecting our bodies into a deep state of stasis So just live for yet another day And find meaning in verses that I convey And once you understand the things I try to say Then I can burn inside and bury my name Even when colored photographs lose their hue The meaning behind these pictures still remain true Yesterday’s children will need you to guide them away From the drugs and violence that lead them astray Otherwise then the cycle will again repeat A new generation born to fog up these streets Freedom can be free if only you pay the price To live or to die the choice will always be mine

[coffeecupwords]

Girls like us we party too hard and in the morning we look at the scar we got from taking too many shots and we don’t see gravel dots, we write craters on the moon. We laugh like the little lines on the side of liquorice, we’re bendy when we’re new but eventually oxygen gets to us and we become tough to chew. Girls like us we’re hard, and we get so much of “the best of luck” we don’t know what to do with it. So we fuck up, we lose people like car keys and when we really can’t find them we pay to get new ones made. We write about how the three dollars was worth being able to unlock our inner safe, but we miss the old one that was dull as an over used scathe. Girls like us we drink too much caffeine and it makes us meaner than our fathers were to our mothers. We cry when we yell and we try, oh god we try to make sense of this hell of being the girls who look at something good and see fire wood that only needs a spark to be burned away from us like our innocence when we lit our first cigarette. Girls like us we fall cause we’re too tall and our heads are in the clouds so we need a couple shots to dumb us down to a level where people can’t say “girls like them” they’re hot but I would not want to deal with bandaging their knees when they forget how to breathe.

(via coffeecupwords)

[papercuts]

Drunk Writing III

[relaxngg-deactivated20190916]

I was a drug addict and an alcoholic for ten years. I got my first high before my first kiss and when I did get my first kiss, I was wasted. I was wasted when I lost my virginity and I was too strung out to care about the big things like prom, and graduation. I let people use and abuse me because I was empty and I thought cute guys with fake smiles and empty words could fill the hole inside of me. The hole I filled with poison . I poisoned my own body just to get relief and after the high wore off and I washed all that make up off at the end of the night, the end of a night where I let some guy use me right before I passed out in my own vomit, I still hated myself. When I looked in the mirror , after I washed my face and cried my eyes out and everything I was drinking, sniffing, snorting, swallowing, crushing, and injecting wore off, I still hated myself. So before you try to fill the cracks of your soul with drugs, fake people and booze, just know that it only makes you hate yourself worse when you sober up, and when those people leave you. Always love yourself and get help if you don’t, get help before you become even more fucked up. Even more fucked up than me.

(via relaxngg)

[les-mots-de-coeur]

you think it’d be easy – being with someone with the same addictions as you. but it’s not. everything turns into a competiton of who does what better and a clash of experience, or lack thereof. it turns into bitter nights trying to save the other, even though you can’t. it’s hoping they’ll have enough sense to not spiral downward like you, but watching them dig themselves into a deeper and deeper hole. the bitterness builds up and translates into month long fights and sick swirls in the pit of your stomach – being with someone with the same addictions as you, it’s not easy, not easy at all.

when your addiction turns into his addiction. a.a.a. 4.7.15 (via les-mots-de-coeur)

[stargazerinmoksha]

I finally see the chains binding my feet together, I’ve been living a lie and I’ve been drowning this whole time. If I ever find a way out of this sick game of addiction, bury me a slave and when you see my cuffs– remember when it was just another reason to go on.

shackles (via everylittlepieceofyou)

[isa-belle-0]

What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I’d done something I shouldn’t have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I’d done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn’t do anything differently than I had done? What if I’d actually wanted to fuck every one of those men? What if heroin taught me something? What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn’t have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?

Cheryl Strayed, Wild (via isa-belle-0)

[daisyflowerfairy]

Blood is thicker than water, my mother had always said when I was growing up, a sentiment I’d often disputed. But it turned out that it didn’t matter whether she was right or wrong. They both flowed out of my cupped palms.

Cheryl Strayed, “Wild.” (via daisyflowerfairy)

[crooked-queen]

I’m supposed to tell you that starving myself hurt - that these brittle bones kissing the inside of my skin are a walking warning for healthy living. You click your pen and smile like you don’t want to hear that starvation feels a lot more like flying, that while my stomach cried empty I fell deeply in love with the myth of a boy named Icarus. You don’t want to hear what I whisper to the ghost of my fallen bird at night: “I bet they burnt your wings before you grew them. I know what it’s like to wear words for the rest of your life.” There’s no one I understand more than the boy who just wanted to make it there, damp feet planted on the bathroom scale, the adrenaline that comes with flying when you know you’re about to fall, shrinking when you’re about to disappear - the way the sun melted the skin off my dead lover’s back before kissing him goodbye, I - To ourselves, we committed the crimes, to ourselves we relished in the consequences. We were victors, we shouted: “Destroy to become, destroy to become.” The bird man and the invisible woman dancing quick on some skeleton stage. Think what you want about scraping yourself bare in order to feel the sun.

Naiche Lizzette [icarus & eating disorders] (via crooked-queen)

[stargazerinmoksha]

I remember reaching for the medication. I remember how numb it felt to forget names. How lovely it was to watch faces burn with ashes. How drowning was tied to cigarettes and jumping into a pool of pills was my only craving. The high is replaced by weights. Anchors sinking and sinking; my pain is drunk and I feel and see less of it each day. Love, our mysterious tragedy. It is like drugs, is it not? Different shapes, different colors, some sad, some happy. Once we let go of the high, we’ll feel much better. I’ve lived under small bottles of prescription that were not mine. I’ve lost my name before, I’ve searched for myself in emptiness and though it was fun, it was not me. And though it was sad, it was not us. I remember holding your–

I wonder if you’ve felt this way before, drugs aren’t the way out or the way in. It is an illusion. A trick. Pretending to be more of who we are not, but we are better than that, yes? // @barely-breathing-gasp, your pills per day don’t make you who you are. Some people take them to be stable, some take to forget. I forgot who I was before then and I’m still searching for him. (via everylittlepieceofyou)

[mdintraining]

My street has the best heroin out there. It’s some damn good stuff. But it’s killin’ people, ya know? So it’s like, how bad do I want it? I want to learn how to want it less.

Patient asked to state his goals for the program (via mdintraining)

[magictrickss]

Later on in your sober days, you will miss the dirty aesthetics, the ambience of a crack house, atmosphere of a junkie altercation. Now, you’re sitting in your cushy Ikea chair surrounded by nice décor with a fridge full of everything you can dream of eating, but. But, my dear fellow ex-junkie, you suddenly realize that you miss sitting in a cockroach infested bedroom and asking an old man named Fred to shoot you up with some smack. Oh, irony, you fuckin bitch.

[moongrassgirl-deactivated201707]

Survival isn’t always pretty. It’s gritty, harsh, and beautifully telling of either your kindness or your cruelty when it matters the most.

Ciera Hoover ( @moongrassgirl )

[turnpyke-turnar0unds]

i am incredibly disgusted with my bf right now that he's defending his best friend against his ex's by saying "he cheated on her and she's so co-dependent she crawled right back to him. her mental illnesses are going to bite her in the ass" without holding his friend accountable for cheating on these women, then taking them back when he should have made the decision for them to be over since she was incapable and I dunno why this upsets me so much but it does and i am growing incredibly frustrated by the actions my bf is willing to defend

[andzcliv3-deactivated20180801]

We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the general public to associate the hippies with marijuana and the blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.

John Erhlichman, White House Domestic Affairs Advisor 1969 - 1973 (via andyclive)

[anna6-66-deactivated20170817]

“Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possible have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, that you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint.” 

[heroinwasmyhero]

The hardest part of recovery isn’t when you’re not sure whether or not you want to recover. It’s tossing and turning at 2:30am wondering why you don’t feel any better even though you’ve been sober for almost three months. You’ve been trying your hardest, gone through so much pain, and yet you still feel like you’re not getting any better. In fact, it feels like you’re getting worse. Your heart wants to fight, but your brain wants to give up. It feels as though time is against you and recovery goes against everything you believe in. Keep staying strong. Eventually, instead of feeling like you have to keep fighting, you’ll want to.

Your purpose in life is to heal and evolve (via heroinwasmyhero)