SomewhatIdyllic
01-29-2011, 01:37 PM
I’m not exactly sure I sleep anymore to be honest. What’s dreaming? I don’t ****ing know what’s a dream anymore. Everything just starts blending in now. You know that fuzzy feel dreams have on the edge of them? Like everything has been softened just a tad? Yeah? That’s how I feel all the ****ing time. When I wake up, or whatever the **** you wanna call it, I’m still high. And if I’m not, then I know that in the next twenty seconds I’m going to feel that cold prick, then the fire will burn through my blood. Then everything will get fuzzy again, and I go on with my day. I see people and they don’t even feel real to me. I feel like I could just reach out and pop their heads if I wanted to. It’s amazing what this **** does. One minute you’re lying exhausted and ****ed out, the next you’re energetic and everything feels great. I love it. I’m addicted to that. Why would I ever need to find a physical source of happiness? What joy is there in love? Love will hurt and destroy you. Drugs won’t. Drugs will show you what can’t be normally seen. They’ll always be there for you, providing the same comfort you’ve always known. They won’t change on you. They won’t run off with someone else. They’re yours. When I’m high, I just feel… I don’t know. It’s hard to talk with someone about a high when they’ve never had one. Did you ever smoke weed or anything? Just a bit? Yeah, see, everyones tried it. Anyways, do you remember what it felt like? Did you get that puffy head feeling and did everything feel a little slow? Remember how out of control you felt? I don’t mean like wild and crazy, but just that something else was calling the shots now. Imagine that feeling, but with enormous amounts of energy and confidence. Somebody else calls the shots and you’re just along for the ride. I’ve tried countless other things, ****ing you name it, and there’s a piss jar in a medical science museum with my name on it, containing exactly that. I loved just eating shrooms and tripping out for days. But nothing even comes close to this ****. I fully admit I’m addicted to it. But I don’t care. Don’t you ever just wish you could turn your brain off when you got stressed? Well for me, it was starting to be stressful a lot of the time and I couldn’t deal with it. I just slipped into this constant high, where I can’t honestly tell people I’m sober ever. It’s never normal me. It’s never rational. Hell, I don’t even believe there’s a normal me. This is normal me now. Sobriety is now just a hobby for me. I’m never thinking straight, I have paranoid hallucinations, and to even attempt to focus is retarded. I just sit there most days, spaced out. I have this one blanket, as soft as can be. I bought it years ago before I started really ****ing up. I still have the original plastic bag, so I’m able to keep it fairly clean. Anyways, I just sit there with this blanket, wrapping myself up in it, waiting for another day to pass. I kind of feel like a machine actually. I’m just continually receiving inputs, never letting my body rest. Eventually I’ll collapse and that’ll be it. I know that day is coming sooner and sooner every single day. I can feel it. My body feels like it’s slowly falling apart in front of me. My hair is pretty much gone and I’m down about seven teeth, but that’s only because I keep a toothbrush on me at all times. My finger nails are as yellow as a lemon, and my skin is flaky and dry. I’ll be the big five one come this Tuesday, but I look like a ninety year old abandoned on death’s door. Every day I’m thankful I didn’t bring another life in this world. I don’t think I could bear that. Having my own flesh and body look at me and know and feel disgust. I’m tearing up just at the thought of it. I always wanted a son you know. A little lad to play catch with, to inform him about girls and the methods his papa used. Then again, I used to want a family period. A beautiful wife and son, maybe a daughter if I was blessed. But now I’m not fit to be a father, nor was I ever. I gave up my sobriety, and by doing so, I gave up my dream. I think it’s why I don’t dream anymore. I don’t have anything I want. Nothing entices me. Nothing excites my interest these days. Expensive cars are just gaudy, a huge house is pointless, and for the most part, I can get the government to cover my food costs. The salvation army clothes me, the homeless shelter has a bed for me. And people give me money so I can use it on the last thing I need, my fix. I don’t have a care or want in the world. No friends or family to be disappointed in me. Some days when I leave the shelter, I see someone lying face down and still just out back. And there’s no police tape, no ambulances, no one rushing to check them. And everybody sees them, but nobody does anything. Instead, they just sit there, lying in the weather until the heat or the bugs makes the smell unbearable. Then a cleaning truck comes and takes it away. I’ve always wondered what happens from there. None of these bodies had family, else why are they on the streets? So who is going to pay for a funeral? Do they even get one? I figure they just toss them into a bag or something, and then take them to the dump. I’ve always wondered about those restricted areas. I bet there’s a whole mound, just festering. And if you asked the name of any one of them, I don’t think there was a soul alive that could tell you. That’s what will happen to me I’m thinking. Just wind up in that pile with all the other carefree people of the world. You think that’s depressing don’t you? Why? What’s depressing about it? I die a grief free death. Nobody is hurt by my leaving. Not one person will cry. You? You on the other hand have people who care and I love you I bet. You gotta, I can see the ring on your hand. What’s your wife look like? I bet she’s just gorgeous. How many kids? Really? Wow. Smart cookies I bet. See? That’s depressing. Imagine their faces when you die. Look at them crying. Look at the sorrow. Do you agree now? Do you see how depressing that is? We live opposite lives, so I leave behind happiness in my passing. That sounds a lot better than tears any day. Plus, it means I just get to spend my days how I want to. Or rather, how the drugs want to. I’m numbed from everything the world has to offer. I refuse to try any of it, it’s all just bull****. There will come a day when I wake up, and everything will be good again. I’ll have a family, and have mine back. I’ll work my day to day at a job I throughly enjoy. And everyday I’ll come home to my wife and she’ll tell me how much she loves me, and give me a sweet, tender kiss. That’s how I’ll know I died.