Addict

I am an addict.
The one that mourns that thing that gives
Peace
Comfort
Relief.

I miss it every day.
Every time, I force myself to not think about it.
To forget about it.
Every time I remember that feeling, it takes so much in me to not fall back.
Not fall to that
Peace
Comfort
Relief.

That thing,
that I so painfully miss.
The thing that numbs the body so much you can hardly feel…. Anything
The thing that helps the person become too dazed to care,
To fight
Live.
The thing that deprives one of self worth,
Self love
And self acceptance.
Only that thing isn’t a pill, it isn’t some ancient plant, some substance ready to be shot up my veins, or some liquor that slides down my throat.

It’s the thing that tells you to give up.
It’s the thing that tells you it’s ok to be lazy,
It’s ok to not do anything.
Rest.
Stay in bed.
Nothing matters if
You’re not here.
If you won’t be here.

And this thing; this thing
Is so good at comforting.
It tells you nothing matters.
There’s no need to care so much.
No need to stress.
Lie here, stare at the ceiling while you play with your worthless thumbs.
Rest.
You’ll need it for tomorrow.

It gives you warm hugs that feel so cold and lonely.
It begs you to just say a few more hurtful words.
“Go on”, it says. “Tell me more about your self”
And so you continue with the torturous process of self hate, self loathing, and self blame.
It stays there rubbing your back and giving you warm hugs.
It tells you everything will be alright
Because you won’t be here.

Every time you try to escape,
This thing pulls you back.
Promising you a sense of relief you need,
want and chase so desperately
In order to run from reality.
A sense of relief that feels so good yet so empty.
This relief becomes home at some point.
A home you run back to when things seem hard.
A home you hide in when you feel like you have nothing else.
A home with gray walls, crooked pictures and too many mirrors to ignore.
So you sit there in this gray, dark, cold little home looking at yourself in the thousands of mirrors that surround you.
Unable to free your self.
Unable to get up.

My mind so tranquil from this thing.
My mind so fixated on its warm, lonely hugs.
My mind so used to it’s familiarity.
My mind imprisoned by its own doing.
This thing is me,
But it’s also not.
This thing is just a thing that so effortlessly paints my world blue.
So effortlessly paralyzing me from feeling what I’m meant to feel.
What I deserve to feel.
Happiness.
Serenity.
Relief.