Member-only story
What The Mind Sounds Like in Active Addiction
I wish I could write a different ending.
How I end up where I’m at is beyond explanation. The best of effort goes over looked when the voices start talking. No amount of distraction will shut them up until the cold fizz of carbonated death hits my lips.
The first drink is hard to get down, let alone the god awful smell. I hate the fucking smell anymore, I can smell it miles away. The pungent, soured poison is begging to be drank. It’s every where, you can’t escape it. I turn around and it’s watching me.
It comes with shattered hope, and broken dreams, but still holds potential, and hope near an dear to my heart. There isn’t a person, place, thing, or relationship it won’t fuck up, but I can never get enough. It is my person, place, thing and relationship. We never argue, we don’t have to. It knows what it’s doing.
One can at a time it rips, and cuts deep at my soul. The deeper the cut, the more relief I seem to get. There is a comfort in the misery it creates, there is no other way to explain the repetition of a decision that is slowly destroying ever moment in time.
7days, 9 days, 12 days, SCREAM!
It’s coming to get me whether I want it to or not. It’s like my freedom of choice left with the consequences this…
