Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

(This is a true story...)

September 2009

 I had gotten to where I wanted to shoot up everything I could, and now I have, just about. But deep down, past my addicted self, lies my child-like soul that cries every time a needle breaks the skin, who regrets the day I had been curious enough to try it. But at this moment, my soul is an apathetic stranger who avoids me when we pass each other on the sidewalk. 
       I am forever under the influence of a mind-altering substance, simply because I couldn't hack it in their world. The "real" world, they call it. What a joke. Their "real" world full of people who lie, cheat, and hide away selfish agendas. They're your friend when nobody is looking, but then soak you in deep humiliation if others are watching. 
       Alcohol made it easier to walk among these people. Good things always have side effects though. It made me become all of these. That is, except a cheater. From friends betraying and girlfriends cheating, I've felt that dark pain and continue holding onto it as a reminder to never, ever allow myself to be the cause of someone suffering from it. If alcohol made it easy to live in that world, it was the drugs that let me escape it. A vacation or temporary break from the feeling of another's agony of not being their true self amongst peers. I hadn't realized alcohol was a drug. And drugs brought the worst side effects. 
      During these brief vacations from what they call "reality," I was shown another world, and each drug would show you a varying amount of their world of pleasure, bliss, and being entirely content with who I was. Governments, who have done and continue to perform secret atrocities that convince everyone the world is black and white, and make it okay—even encourage you—to lie, cheat, and step on whomever is in your way of getting a small sliver of what is known as "The American Dream." 
Now, money, materials, and possessions are what we want. They are what keeps the world turning. What we have in materials determines our status. That is your "real" world, as it spins and spins in the cosmos. 
I didn't want to live in that world anymore. I wanted the wonderland that drugs have shown me. I wished to be there forever. And I got what I wished for, unfortunately. 
Just like the lie of the last world being the "real" world, the world I was shown had only been an illusion. It's where I'm forever trapped now. A world of suffering, torment, and constant thoughts of suicide. It isn't even a world at all, only a mere plane. Europe must have experienced a massive heroin epidemic addicted when they believed Columbus would sail off its edge, because that's what it feels like. My addiction has pushed me over the edge of where its world ends and has left me dangling by my fragile fingers. 
But honestly, would I rather live in the fake world I had lived before? 
At least here, the pain is real.