Addiction

I don’t get addicted easily. Smoked regularly for 5 years, quit with no issues or withdrawals. Popped pills like a mother fucker, quit on a dime.

Self mutilation? The release was amazing. The blade sliding across my skin; going deeper each time. It was ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. The blade is my friend, one of my two only true friends. She has been with me the longest and has never nor will ever abandon me. Never hurt me without purpose. In fact, the blade loved me. She knew what I wanted, pain. Yes, the pain was amazing; no matter if it hurt a bit or unbearably, I loved it. What about burning? Yes, cutting was not the only form of self mutilation I had turned to. The searing of my flesh, it was intoxicating. Filling my body with warmth, pseudo warmth, a small glimpse at what others call love. Love was always described as warmth starting in your core and going out. In that sense, I did love this; if you can consider addiction love. Burns eventually covered my arm. My excuse? Wrestling near fire. Nobody would doubt me. Truth? Cigarette burns, each one of them. Why cigarettes? Because, I had already been smoking, why not kill two birds with one stone. But why did I even start self mutilation? Was it because I was addicted to pain? That’s part of the reason, but there was more. I wanted to actually feel something. Feel a bit of control in my life. It originally started with the blade, and I did love her so. But, after a while, she wasn’t satisfactory. I need more, so I cheated on her. I went to a new lover; fire. Fire has never failed me, and her effect is much longer lasting. The blade and fire, they are the one source of freedom I have. I love them so.

Alcohol… now there was another true friend. Was always there when I needed it. It was my cure to everything. My miracle drug, my cure all. Daily I would turn to her, hoping she would listen to me, help me solve my problems. My senior year was the best time for me. I got to know her personally. Every morning I say her, and every evening I fell asleep to her. There was not a moment of time when she was not on my breath. She was everywhere I went, school, friends, movies, you name it, and she was there with me. If she wasn’t with me, something was wrong, and people knew it. Is that sad? People can tell when something is wrong when I wasn’t drinking, since it was normal for me to be drinking or drunk. Alcohol was my love; she numbed me to everything else. She knew what was best for me. Not having emotions for anything else, that was the best thing for me. If I grew too attached to somebody, I would turn to alcohol and she would set me straight. I couldn’t cheat on her, not even with the blade or fire. I’m starting to do that again, getting close to people. Unfortunately, I don’t have alcohol here to set me straight. I’m going to get hurt, I just know I am. But still, I can’t stop myself, not without the help of alcohol. Alcohol is my only true love; none will replace her until the time is right. And even then, she will forever hold a place in my heart. Alcohol was the one thing preventing me from killing myself, and now she is gone…