Heroin Slow.

Noticing my still wide opened door, I went over and closed it. Staring at the mirror right next to it. Some pale face filled with fear was staring back at me. I touched the mirror to see, if the face was real. I knew this man, I knew how it looked like some month before. It had changed, almost painfully.
Revealing all of my emotions at once, I punched the reflecting glass with all my force. Taking my hand back, I noticed it was bloody. ‘Damn.’, was the only thing I could think of. Though my fist hurt like hell, I felt relived, as if the pain was overwhelming every other emotion I was feeling at that time, it removed my unhappiness, I didn’t enjoy it but I much preferred feeling the pain than feeling nothing at all. I badly wanted sleep, I needed sleep. I stroked my forehead with the back of my hand forgetting that I had just practically split my fist open a few minutes before. The blood stained my face, but I didn’t care.

I remember sleeping for what only seemed to be a couple of hours, it turned out I slept for a day and a half. “Fuck!”, I said waking up. I glanced over at the smashed mirror, shattered glass lay all over the floor. The sun shone through a gap in the curtains, hitting of the glass and almost blinding me in both eyes. “What the fuck? Ugh,” I said hoarsely, covering my eyes with my arms. I stood up walked over to the broken mirror, and began picking up the pieces. I cut my hand a few times in the process, I winced then moved on. I didn’t mind the pain.

I caught another glimpse of myself in a large piece of glass, my face drooped at the sides, it wasn’t what it was; it wasn’t full of life. My greasy black hair slung tight to my skin, making my face appear even thinner. I took my eyes away from my reflection and focused on my hands, my skin just slid over my knuckles, they were almost bulging out of the skin, which was the only thing stopping you from seeing raw bone. My black nail varnish was peeling off, I should remember to re-do it when I get the time, I need to look good. I chuckled at the thought, I never looked good anymore. My hands stung as I pressed them tight together trying to stop the bleeding. They always say pressure stops it, don’t they?

“HEY! ‘Coby, you here?” I heard a voice shout, it would be no-one other than my friend Patrick, I knew his voice from a mile away

“Yeah, dude, I’m in here..” I called out from my messy room.

Patrick walked in and noticed my hands straight away. I knew what he was thinking, it was written all over his face.

“Dude.. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re playing at?” he asked, concerned. He had a right to be, I suppose. I would be if I walked in on him with bloody hands and shit.

I shook my head, not really caring about my sore hands “I smashed the mirror, cut myself on the glass while picking it up, no biggie.” He shrugged as if to say ‘Yeah, like I believe that.’ I didn’t actually care if he did or not, it was true.

“Coby, just tell me the truth. You haven’t started self-mutilation again, have you?”

I glared at him, how dare he even suggest it.

“YOU HAVE HAVEN’T YOU? I THOUGHT YOU STOPPED THAT ‘COBY?!” Patrick yelled. If I’m honest I felt like slashing his face with the glass that was still in my hand. Instead, I just glared at him again. “You’re a self harming junkie bastard!” he spat.

My fists clenched together, digging the glass in once again. I wanted to kill him. First he asks if I’m self harming again and next, he calls me a junkie. I am not a junkie. Fine, I lie.

I take heroin and I enjoy it so fuck you.

“I’m done helping you Shaddix. I try and get you away from the self harming and get yo’ off the drugs, and this is how you repay me? Go die!”

My heart sank a little. He was after all my best friend, no matter what. He’d been there for me through tons of stuff that I haven’t told a lot of people. “Patrick, don’t speak to me like that. You don’t know how hard it is to get off drugs. Unless you’ve been there, you can’t tell,” I said with a tear in my eye. “You’re my best friend - I need you!” I pleaded.

Patrick looked at me, kneeling on the floor drenched in my own blood. “You need you’re head sorting, because it’s fucked. And it’s fucking up mine. Goodbye Shaddix, goodbye!”

From the minute Patrick left me there, I realised I needed to change. For the better. I want to get away from the drugs scene and what it had done to me. I’m not the same man I used to be. We do a few gigs here and there, and the chicks don’t even find me attractive now. Because I’m not. I’m underweight and disgusting. Judge me, because you should.

I do not enjoy heroin, at first it was the best thing I had ever felt. That buzzing sensation flowing through your veins? It isn’t all that appealing when you arrive where I am now. I felt on top of the world to began with, I really did. I thought I was superman, ready to set of on a flying journey high in the sky that belonged to my happy place. Now, after 6 long years of being on the stuff that buzz has just gone. Gone. I simply take it because I hate the feeling of coming down even more. It will defiantly be a long, difficult journey that I have ahead of me but I’ll do it. Or at least, I’ll attempt it.

Who am I kidding? I’ll never make it.