Restless Heart Syndrome
Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun...
[Jimmy's P.O.V.]
I walked away from Leanne, with a funny feeling in me. She was different then all the other girls. She actually had a heart. Anyone else would have walked away from me with a disgusted look, then talk to his or her friends about me. She stayed and got to know me a little. I felt like now I had a reason for school. Maybe she could be a friend? I had this funny feeling about her, like she was hiding something, but then again I have a big secret too.
I walked a few blocks away from school, lit a cigarette. I was craving one all day. I inhaled the chemicals into my lungs. It would hold me off until my dad came home with the real stuff. I sat at home waiting for him to come. I was half excited, half scared.
He pounded through the door, sweating, and shaking. The scared part of me grew larger and larger. I stood staring at him and the bag of white powder he held in his hand.
"Give me my share. I paid for half of that." I demanded.
"Why should I give you any?"
"Because I paid for it. Now give it!" I said reaching of it, and preparing myself for the blow that was coming my way. I was right, he hit me across the face hard. I ignored it and grabbed the bag. He pushed me to the floor, and as I was trying to get up, he started kicking me. I learned to just take it.
He poured more then half of the powder on the mirror on the coffee table. He started to form lines, and snort them. I got up and took what was left in the bag upstairs.
I looked in the mirror at the red mark across my face. I lifted my shirt up to look at my ribs. They were all red and semi bruised from last time I needed a dose. This is how it was around here. If I needed I would pay for half, then when it got here, he would say I have to earn it. When I would earn it he would leave me with less then what I paid for.
I formed lines out of the powder with a razor blade. I held a straw with one end up my nostrils, and the other on the powder. I inhaled, going up and down the lines I made. I felt it flowing through my system. Flowing into my brain. Setting off feelings in me I only knew of when I was high. I picked up the razor, I used to form the lines with, and ran it across my wrist. I watched the blood flow down.
I sat on my bed staring at myself, letting blood drip everywhere. I was depressed, high, lonely, and just needed a friend. My father hated me, because he blames me for my mother’s death. I was worthless trash. My father was the reason I use, I cut, and I hate myself. Sometimes I don't know who I hate more, my father, or myself.
I walked away from Leanne, with a funny feeling in me. She was different then all the other girls. She actually had a heart. Anyone else would have walked away from me with a disgusted look, then talk to his or her friends about me. She stayed and got to know me a little. I felt like now I had a reason for school. Maybe she could be a friend? I had this funny feeling about her, like she was hiding something, but then again I have a big secret too.
I walked a few blocks away from school, lit a cigarette. I was craving one all day. I inhaled the chemicals into my lungs. It would hold me off until my dad came home with the real stuff. I sat at home waiting for him to come. I was half excited, half scared.
He pounded through the door, sweating, and shaking. The scared part of me grew larger and larger. I stood staring at him and the bag of white powder he held in his hand.
"Give me my share. I paid for half of that." I demanded.
"Why should I give you any?"
"Because I paid for it. Now give it!" I said reaching of it, and preparing myself for the blow that was coming my way. I was right, he hit me across the face hard. I ignored it and grabbed the bag. He pushed me to the floor, and as I was trying to get up, he started kicking me. I learned to just take it.
He poured more then half of the powder on the mirror on the coffee table. He started to form lines, and snort them. I got up and took what was left in the bag upstairs.
I looked in the mirror at the red mark across my face. I lifted my shirt up to look at my ribs. They were all red and semi bruised from last time I needed a dose. This is how it was around here. If I needed I would pay for half, then when it got here, he would say I have to earn it. When I would earn it he would leave me with less then what I paid for.
I formed lines out of the powder with a razor blade. I held a straw with one end up my nostrils, and the other on the powder. I inhaled, going up and down the lines I made. I felt it flowing through my system. Flowing into my brain. Setting off feelings in me I only knew of when I was high. I picked up the razor, I used to form the lines with, and ran it across my wrist. I watched the blood flow down.
I sat on my bed staring at myself, letting blood drip everywhere. I was depressed, high, lonely, and just needed a friend. My father hated me, because he blames me for my mother’s death. I was worthless trash. My father was the reason I use, I cut, and I hate myself. Sometimes I don't know who I hate more, my father, or myself.