I overdosed in a winter month, almost dying in my apartment alone. A pathetic way to wake up one day: running late and alive. Both conditions handled like minor inconveniences.
Shielding this problem from being a burden to anyone else was what I concerned over rather efforts to help myself. Using wasn’t something I shared with anyone. That has always been an issue put upon myself in private. An addict I shared a dealer with called me a day-walker. Nice shoes and furniture, college and a job. Self hatred more than a cry for help. Something I wasn’t willing to say out loud less I speak it into existence.
I went cold turkey. I know about slapping yourself in the mirror. I know about changing. When I see the people I pushed away during the time I was using I’m sheepish. Explaining anything is a selfish errand. It’s easier on both of us to assume they think I’m a bad person and move on. Excuses. Everyone has excuses. Preemptive scolding.
A plaintive “I was in a bad place then, I’ve changed.” email is sent to a professional contact I need forgiveness from and I consider the men in my life who gave me that line to steal.
I know you now. I know what you want when you tell me you’ve changed. It doesn’t matter if I believe you if I give you what you want. It doesn’t matter if it’s true if it gives you a clear conscience. I want it too. You have been denied it so little that you’re not afraid to ask. We’ll sit and you’ll describe your pain as if it has always been self evident. I wish I was you.
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
ellievsbear
jacobvanloon
