Two Is Better Than One

I was laying in my bunk with my hands behind my head and staring up at the ceiling. How could they say that to me? How could they say that I've changed? I can't help the fact that I like sex, booze, and drugs. They all make the time pass. Time that I could be spending thinking about all the bad things in life. Besides, how did I used to act? How did I used to feel? I can't seem to remember. I don't even remember the last time I hung out with the guys, went to a band practice or rehearsal, or even listened to music. They're right. I have changed. I just don't want to admit it.

I don't live this way because I want to. I live this way to simply avoid what I don't want to become. And what I don't want to become is my Dad. I remember things from my childhood that still haunt me. I've never told anyone about it, and I don't plan to. I try not to even think about it myself. But my mind always wanders back to when I was a kid, and the pain still lingers. I drink constantly to take my mind off of it, to make sure I'm not able to think. And the occasional drugs, those just help even more. So do girls. When I'm fucking some chick, getting drunk, or getting high, my mind isn't thinking about the bad stuff in life, it's too caught up in the moment. And that's why.

The guys just don't know that. I don't want them to. I don't want to stop what I'm doing. I like this lifestyle, I enjoy not being able to feel. It's a relief. Fuck what they say. They have no idea what they're talking about. I stood up from my bed and pulled on some jeans, a black tee, and my leather jacket, then grabbed my wallet on my way out the door.

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"Thanks, man," I said, as the druggy handed me the back of coke. I smiled to myself. I couldn't wait to get this shit started. I walked down another alley to a spot where I was all by myself, rolled the cocaine up, and snorted it. The sensation rolled throughout my body, and releif washed away all the worries of the day. I kept doing it, over and over again, thinking that the more I did, the longer it would take to wear off, and the more pain it would take away.

After a while, my head began getting dizzier than it usually did. My stomach was lurching all over the place, and I felt like I was going to vomit everywhere. I was hot, my god, I was so hot. I took off my jacket and threw it on the ground, along with the bag of drugs that was now almost gone. I dropped down to my knees, the vomit pouring out all over the ground. My face heated up and tears flowed down my cheeks. My whole body was on fire. I felt like I was burning from the inside out. I fell to the ground, no longer having any control over my body. My head hit the pavement, and there was nothing but a world of darkness surrounding me. "I'm dead," I thought to myself. What the hell have I done?