When I Died... (Misery, Pt. 2) Read Count : 113

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     More. More. More!

     That's all my body would yell for, while it stared up in despair at my mind. As if my brain could toss more down whenever it pleased. 

     My body didn't understand. Its confusion made me sweat. A salty liquid squeezed its way through every pore and orifice like it would evaporate without the taste of fresh air. Though, it would evaporate anyway after a deep breath of the stagnant, warm air that would leave the taste of two unkempt, sweaty human bodies on their tongue and lips. 

     One could've sliced through the growing, burning tension between the girl and I with a mere butter knife. She is the witch who handed this diseased curse to me like a sweet, Halloween treat. I will forever hate her for that. To accompany this, she had a sexual relationship with a friend of mine, as well. However, despite all the anger, self-pity, and pain she had caused me…

     

     We were in this fight together. That is…

     Until, death became me. 


     On the day I died, anger had consumed me after I awoke; I didn't yet realize death had given me a way out. In an ironic turn of events, it wasn't the poison I had been cursed to forever shoot into my veins that killed me, but the rocky, white devil my cheating friend had introduced me. An over-self-indulgence of crack cocaine had saved me from the grips of heroin addiction. 

     A two-week stay in detoxification was to follow, then another 30 days in an inpatient rehabilitation center. 

     That's how it went, one drug taking the place of another; that is, if you consider rehab a drug, which I do. It's the human need to escape, that is essentially what began my addiction to every other drug—escaping from reality. 

     In rehab, one is in a giant bubble where nothing can touch them—or hurt them. Although it sneaks its way inside, pain is not welcome. The door is one-way for anything that inflicts hurt, and that is out. There is no paying bills, no job, and no children to look after. One doesn't even really have to look after them self. All your human needs are met—food, shelter, shower, etc. 

     I have met a few people who don't even have a drug or alcohol problem—though they do have other issues—who come to rehab as a vacation. And that's what it is, an escape from reality. And if one really wanted their fix from a drug of their choice, they could find it. Out of the five rehabs I have been a patient, not one was completely drug-free. 

     Before rehab, my urge to escape grew too big for my body to withstand. In my sophomore history class in high school is where I found my first external escape: alcohol. 


To be continued… 

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    Oct 18, 2018

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