Relapsing is My Excuse

“You’re doing so well...” they said.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“I’m so glad you’re getting better…” he said.

I messed up again. I just… I couldn’t hold it down. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stop myself. From the urge. I don't... know anymore. Why... I do this.

I’ve relapsed again. It feels… disappointing. Feels like I’m a failure. Feels like I built myself up, like I stitched it up, like I forgot, just to knock it all down, just to tear out the fix-ups, just to be reminded again. I can't just... I can't let it go.

It felt so… good. Just to feel that little thrill again. Those empty plastic bottles. That funny shock that maybe… maybe… you just won’t recover from those pills that slide so well down your throat.

You might die. Might actually happen this time. You might not breath again. Your brain might stop computing. Your heart might stop beating so hard in your chest. You might.

I can’t even die right. What can I actually do?

- Syra