I consider myself a healthy woman, my doctor even said so. I eat well, and stay active. I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life, rarely smoke weed, and don’t do drugs. With the exception of drinking on the weekends, I’m clean. But I still consider myself an addict. And he is my drug.
The thing about drugs is, they don’t stuff themselves down your throat. Coke doesn’t walk itself into your nose. A needle doesn’t fly into your veins. YOU make the decision. YOU have the control. Yet, I feel so helpless when it comes to him.
I’ve tried everything. Everything. But when it comes to drugs, it doesn’t matter if you flush your stash in the toilet or empty your bottles down the drain. You can avoid
the places he frequents, delete numbers then try to un-remember them shady places, and stop hanging around the same crowd, but it’s still not enough. Because one day it’s bound to be in your presence. And unless you’ve found something or someone to replace that sensation in your veins, that high in your head, that explosion in your heart – there’s always a possibility of relapsing.
How can I not? When it just feels so. damn. good. When we’re together, it’s as if there’s no one else around. I feel safe. I feel cared for. I feel relieved. I feel happy. I feel, amazing. But that’s what drugs do, they desensitize you from reality. Then you wake up the next day highover from emotions. The next night, you feel sick. And as time passes, the withdrawals only get worse. The anxiety, heavy. The cuts, to the bone. He is my Blue Magic.
The worst part about drugs is the relationship is not interdependent. It doesn’t need you. Moreover, it doesn’t give a shit about you.
I don’t need an intervention. It won’t work. I have awesome friends, I see them every week. I run the beach, and try new things. But it’s still not enough to ween me off my drug. I guess … I need to OD in order to come clean. “Red or green pill, you live and you learn.”
I need you to need me“