my deep dark descent into the pits of hell we know as addiction....
i don’t know who i am anymore–i am a fucking mess,
&& i can’t keep blaming it all on my dad’s death.
let’s be real–i was an embarrassing mess long before he even got sick,
but soon after it all became very obvious && that’s when i began to panic.
my addiction is bad && just keeps spiraling more && more out of control,
i shake my head in disgust && continue to load yet another fat bong bowl.
the scale read 92 pounds you have got to be fucking kidding me?!!?
why can’t i just get my shit together && back on the path i’m supposed to be?!
never would i have ever guessed,
i’d make sure to always budget for meth;
but i do for each && every payday,
i mean fucking seriously what do you think dad would say?!!?
there once ws a time my world revolved the other way,
&& my main priority in this life was being able to say:
i was a role model–a friend–&&so much more than just an aunt,
now the kids have stopped even trying to make plans with me because they know i’ll just say i can’t.
does that crush you && fucking kill you man cause it fucking should,
where do you think this road will lead you–definitely nowhere good.
how much farther down am i going to dig myself before i say it’s finally time to quit?
cause what if “rock bottom” isn’t something that even truly exists?
i’m miserable–angry–disgusting && always in pain,
happiness left me years ago && before much longer i’ll be declared clinically insane.
who made you hurt so badly you turned to this life to numb it all?
what happened to you that made you decide to make such a poor judgment call?
i don’t deny it one bit either–I know i am an addict && need help to get out,
i just don’t know how exactly to start or if i can even stand all that sober living is about.
what will my sister say && do when she finds everything out finally?!!?
i wonder if she even suspects anything is even out of the ordinary with me?
but what about my job–my cat–my home?!!?
i can’t lose it all because i have taken too many massive clouds to the dome.
i mean look how fucking backwards it is–i kept it all together while spinning like a top,
but risk losing absolutely everything by asking for help to finally actually stop.
the withdrawals aren’t even any part of quitting that i fear,
you just need a good couple days to sleep && eat until you are able to wake up with a head that is finally clear.
it’s my body’s inability to properly produce dopamine,
that i can’t physically take && it just makes me fiend,
that’s always where i’d struggle whenever i quit in the past,
because it can take weeks–months–even years until it’s normal so that’s why i always relapse.
quitting itself is a lonely–empty–dark time,
&& it takes all i have to even start to make the climb;
i get some days under my belt && am so very proud of myself,
but without dopamine nothing at all makes me happy so i then get defeated && ponder how i ever thought i could do this all myself.
knowing all it takes is just one of my humongous cloud hits,
just to be ecstatic && numb but right back hooked on the shit;
i’m weak when i’m fiending && just want to relax,
but to avoid any users around here is a pretty impossible task.
because i live alone, i don’t have much accountability i’m required to be held to,
&& honestly i’m such a control freak && independent that that’s how i want it to stay too;
if this will ever work you’d think i may need a sponsor or something,
someone i’m required to answer to when needed && also someone i can lean on for help when that demon comes a knocking.
cause it’s only a matter of time before it does–i’m familiar with the routine,
&& to be completely honest–quitting for good may be what i want but it’s just not for me!!
what’s done is done–can’t change the past,
&& i can’t lie either–most of the times we shared we had an absolute blast!!
so here’s to drugs && getting hitt on that shitt, would much rather sleep for days–but i never get what i want so fuck it….
3/29/2017 1:08am CST