Like many others I am my own worst enemy. That enemy that manipulates, tricks, poisons, and the kind of enemy who'll poison you, or put ground glass in your drink. Without warning, without a plan, I will hurt myself or fuck things up. I am trying to learn to be honest with myself, like as honest as I am with my friends. I have never been a very good friend to myself, and if I ever was the moment was brief -- forgettable even.
At the end of November I ran out of my pain medication. I take methadone for pain, but to be honest, I am a full-fledged opiate lover, hopelessly devoted (forgive the cliché) and addicted. I once thought I was in control and maybe I was for short periods of time, but I'm not in control now. I fall deeper into this slavery as the days go by.
I am my own worst enemy. In that regard I am not special. I am one of millions.
I find myself thinking about that day, the first day I used heroin. I found myself sitting in my bedroom staring at a little packet of powder. Wrapped up in a lottery slip was a small mound dust that terrified and excited me all at once. Would there be any turing back after I bumped a little off a pen cap? Did I care? I really don't think I did. But I do now -- I'm scared. Terrified of where I'm going.
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Afraid of the Path I'm On