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I tied the belt tighter around my upper arm to stop the blood flow.
Squeezing my fist every few seconds to pump up my vein, it didn’t take me long to find old faithful. It never did. I leaned back against the old, dirty, mold-infested couch, faintly hearing “Mad World” by Andrew Michaels somewhere in the dark, ominous background. The lyrics immediately brought back old memories—good times, happy vibes, when in reality there was anything but fucking happiness.
This wasn't who I’d always been.
Once upon a time, I tried to find my independence, and somewhere along the way, I found solace in the haze of dependency, which was what led me to that place in time.
I didn’t bother to take in my surroundings.
It was always the same.
Familiar faces that blended together and never changed, always jonesing, always wanting, always needing, always craving.
More. More. More.
And never enough.
It wasn’t about being high anymore. The euphoric, free feeling was long gone. All that was left was the pursuit. Day after day I was pulled down the proverbial rabbit hole with nowhere to turn, always trying to escape, chasing the non-existent dragon that only led to darkness.
It was too late.
It had me.
The addiction.
A tight grasp on my soul, pushing me further and further into the black abyss. What goes up, must come down. It’s the law of physics, the code of life. I rode the high for as long as I could remember. I had been so far up that there was nowhere left for me to go but straight to the bottom. All I wanted was to drown out the feeling of my entire body caving in on me. Soothe the ache, throw fire on the chill, and ease the nausea.
The only thing I could do to feel as if I wasn’t dying was…
To kill myself a little more.
I inserted the needle, welcoming the sting. My blood rushed in, and I slowly pushed down the plunger.
I wanted it to last.
I always do.
It was the best fucking part.
I pulled the plunger back out and watched with hooded, constricted pupils as my blood swirled in once again.
Heaven and Hell. God and Satan. Love and hate. It all blended together. Forming a clusterfuck of hope and despair.
Now…
Now, I squeezed my fist.
The rush.
Tingles from my fingers traveled up my arm and then, and then…
It hits.
Simultaneously my eyes closed and my head fell back against the couch.
I don’t care that it’s dirty.
I don’t care that it smells.
