Withdrawals.
I remember the ghost of me floating in between foundation-shaking guilt and eery disassociation straight back into using because nothing worked without it, without it I was a total poltergeist. Doors would slam, the occasional muffled scream could be heard, money and needles would go missing seemingly out from nowhere, and it seemed that often I existed only in theory with the way I could disappear for short and long periods of time and no one would know if I was gone or just strung out in my room. Oh, my room. The aftermath of a hurricane, just how it always seemed like something devastating had happened in there. Like I had turned it into a classic paranormal horror movie setting, complete with the unrestful apparition that was so tempestuous in nature that it became part of the very walls in there. The peak of evil seated in that one room of the house- the room no one was to go into lest her spirit be disturbed more so than it already was. Don't take the dare no matter how much you want to see something scary. Wouldn't want to risk upsetting the cursed needles, something unholy might latch onto you forever and never ever leave. Or maybe you don't want to sign a blood contract with the Devil himself. Not like her, she "made the mistakes so (you) don't have to". She can be the ghost, thank you. And there's another sweet bitterness my soul latched onto, emaciated and heaving. I guess maybe that's why the comedowns weren't as bad as the withdrawals, I had the emptiness (except for the many spikes in emotional readings) and the nectarous venom I could practically shoot into my veins. Anything close to what I needed- being a fucking hit, or what would have to do instead of whatever I probably really needed (and since that probably doesn't exist or at least does not to me, let's not bother with what That could have been). Barring pushing off, the rest of the time was usually complete Hell. Building and festering, starving and seething, until it exploded in a flurry of fury and misery unless it was sated with a little sacrifice. Moral, financial, emotional. Human. And that was life for me, or what would have to dubiously pass for a life, anyways. I guess not much is too different from now when I look at it just like that, and for the key elements of needing something that really isn't available to you when you are haunted by the demons in your life and somehow simultaneously are the demons in your life. I guess it's all just as hopeless as it was then, except I'm not getting my fucking hit anymore. More of a calculated dormancy in place than an exorcismic cleanliness. I watch from the walls, creaking from below and above and all around my silent vengeance, whispering my plan of action to myself almost, so muted and distorted that you wouldn't even know if it was even a specter or just a silly conclusion you came to when you were up too late at night. And that's just the way I wanted it, too. I'm trying to be a better person/ghost. This time I swear guys, I'll try and just collapse the whole house down on me, m'kay?
Not registered?
Create an account