I often find myself wondering why I continue to use. Regardless of any negative impact that my using has on my life, I continue to light the pipe. To roll it side to side as I inhale slowly and steadily. To watch the vapor swirl and build inside the bubble until blowing out clouds. Clouds that seem to contain all the anxiety and stress of the day, week, month, or even the year. It's not cloud nine, but it's floating somewhere between heaven and hell. A place for fools, dreamers, and junkies.
I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed, swearing under my breath as I stick. Poke. Prod. Pierce. Into my skin, into my vein, and pull. Cloud, burst, a jet of red. It's not just the plunger that's pushed. It's my boundaries, my relationship with friends and family, and my sense of self. It hits. I cough, eyes widening, pupils expanding, heart beating, and I feel like I might orgasm. Bliss is mine.....for an hour or so perhaps. I could die here on this floor, or in the bed, or next to a stranger I met online, but I don't care. I'm bruised and sweaty, but it's the closest thing to happy that I can be. It almost makes me feel like I am me again.
Panicked. Can't sleep and work is in a few hours. Can't focus on anything but my phone, the TV, the computer, and the porn. I know I'm not taking care of myself. I know I will rush to pull it together and hope that no one notices. I'll have to go into public and interact with non users. With upstanding citizens of society. Now I'm sweating, can't make eye contact, can't speak without tripping over my words. It's like my mouth is drunk but my brain is wide awake and ready to go. I can do anything but I can't do anything good.
I lie to myself and make excuses. I feel guilty. I crash. I wake up and do it all again. I ask myself "What the fuck is the point?" The point is to feel like shit every day, with only brief periods where happiness is an imitation, and reality is on the other side of the door. I ask myself "Do you want to die or something? Cause you're killing yourself a little bit each day." The answer is yes. I've given up on fighting for things there is no hope for. Normal isn't going to be a reality for me. Healthy is not going to be a reality for me. Even love feels like it's off the table, at least the kind of love that I desire. I ask myself "Then why do you try so hard to be all of these things?"
Well, I guess it's because I haven't completely given up on myself. Even with all that I have going against me in this world, some small part of me is still fighting. Small but mighty.
So I put on the mask. I go through the motions. I say fuck it, quite a bit actually, and I try my hardest to fight for me. Me, myself, and I. On some days, I even win.