I Miss The Morphine

There are times when in my pulsating and mind-numbing bordeom that I get caught up in the chemical thrill that used to echo through my veins. There are times when I miss the morphine. I miss that warm rush that would suddenly and almost instantly wash over me. It's been three years since I last felt her inticiting lips against mine, but I can't help but wonder what they would taste like now. Would I be able to just sink into the numbness before or would it be different this time around? The same selfish reasons stand in place. I could have used to the excuse that I was only doing this because my grandmother had just died and I have. I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't admit my failures and shotcomings. I didn't want people to know just how hard I was struggling with my depression. I was in too deep. I was too ashamed to aknowledge what was really going on with me. There are still some things that I struggle to talk about. And those are the things that haunt me. Those of you who were with me at that time know how dark things got for me and how things begain to spiral out of control, so I packed up my things and ran away to Sweden and Norway for a little while, clear my head and allow myself to try and breathe without the thought of the latest high chasing behind me. I tride to hide from myself and what I failed to realise at the time, was that I was just bringing myself along with me. I was changing the location for shooting, not the problem with my actor. That's the only way I can think to put it. Laying underneath the stars, my body raditating heat, despite it being the dead of winter. Christmas is right around the corner, but I'm caught up in a tile wave of depression and self-loathing that I can't seem to shake. The windows are open to cool my scorching flame. I'm hanging out the window shirtless letting the cool work its way into every valley and ridge on my body. I don't care who sees the scars and stretch marks at this point. I need to crawl out of this. Crawl out of my skin and into a new form. Yeah, that would be nice. The wall to my right is smeared with my blood. Hand prints trickle down the walls. My cries of agony taking physical form. I want everyone to see. I'm afraid of how everyone is going to judge me. I poure shots of tequila into me. Something in me just told me to take it to the next level. I need to chase a new high. I need to know there's another level I can reach before I finally crack. My screams echo through my body as it mingles with the heat. The corners of the room begin to blur and I find myself falling away from it all. My breathing slows. All I can smell is tequilia mingling with the smell of fresh wounds. My mind wants to go left my body wants to go right. They sit down, light cigarettes and begin to talk. They discuss the pros and cons of sticking around. My body argues that I need this meat and bone shell to explore the physical world around me. My mind aruges that I need to shed my physical being to truely be happy. They go back and forth as my breathing slows further. All I want to do is close my eyes. I should be scared. I should be anxious. I'm too blurred to think of anything but sleep. If I can sleep, everything will be alright. It will all be better in the end. It takes all I have in me to roll onto my side. An oozing and sticky wrist and forearm leave a scarlet stain on the duvet. I need to get myself onto the bed. Once I do, I'll be able to sleep this off. I can't think. Do I even want to think? I've pushed myself to a new limit. I've hit a new low. Flashes of childhood are all I can see before the blur into another image. Learning to cycle. Dive Team. Cheerleading. A happy halloween from nearly 20 years ago. Why am I so obsessed with the things I've done before? Because I've done them and made it out okay? Because it's not something new I can fail at? Failure has paralysed me in so many areas of my life, robbed me of so much that I have no real concept of self-esteem. My self-love is based off that of those around me. I need to find someone to love me because I can't love me. There is enough sense somewhere in my boiled brain is the sense not to lay on my back. If you vomit, you'll choke to death and that's a painful way to go. If I'm going to die here tonight, it won't be because of vomit. The irony of being destroyed by a thing I enjoy almost makes me want to laugh. I love my methods of escape and here I am, at their mercy. I never thought that this would be my reality. I've fallen and crawllen through so much my extremities are shredded and my self-reliance is at an all time high. Why did I wait so long to do this? Why did I have to fall in love now? Why did I have to allow yet another toxic romance into my life? Especially when I knew that everything around me was falling through. One chokes me from behind and begins to prenetrate me while the one in the front's lips collide with me. Sweet bubblegum taste and violent sodomey. Honestly, there is a part of me that wants to go back to this warmth. I miss the burning sensation that used to coat my arteries and veins. I miss the calm before the storm.