||in need of nicotine
I'm not like anyone I know. I'm abstract - more empathetic and trusting than the people here. So that's why I more often than not sulk into bed each night, just wishing I could disappear into a place where I'd want to exist. I don't feel like I could ever be happy where I am.
I am a meth addict. This addiction is killing me, but I don't want to die. I want to live and accept and attempt to do all the wishes and dreams that have filled my imagination since I was a small child, neglected and left alone. I have so many aspirations, you see, and a mind that speedily races to fill in holes of everyday problems such as helping my mother out, keeping my brother calm, when I'll get around going to college, not being there to see my goddaughter grow up, running into pigs, coming up with money, getting dope, hustling (better known as stealing/pawning/conning) other tweakers for nickels/dimes/whateverIcanaffordtoget, and how fucked up I'll be later in life knowing how fucked up I am now.
Just to clear things up, I'm not the type of addict that fucks dealers for a hit, I still have more than enough sense to keep myself from getting that deep into drugs. I still and will probably always have my lovably enormous yet sensitive ego with a mountain of pride and morals on top of that. To put things into perspective, I don't desperately chase every slight opportunity to feed my addiction down nor do I trade my pride for a day of euphoric ignorance. When I have enough spare money (which is usually everyday) I go out, get a dime, and smoke it all at once. I don't trade any of my belongings, I just lose out on cash that I could've spent elsewhere or saved.
Looking back, I have since forgotten why I like this drug. It's done nothing but peck away at me, mentally and physically. My self-confidence has withered, and my body is looking more and more sullen as the days sink by. I hallucinate (it used to be much worse up until a couple of weeks ago. I would see shadows moving that would take on human shapes on the walls, through the windows, and sometimes 'people' would appear in the middle of rooms I would be in 'causing uncontrollable panic in me and I would bury myself in blankets at the corner of my room, wrapping my arms around my legs and sobbing desperately for the stalkers-that-were-never-there to go away and I'd shut my eyes as tight as I could hoping that if I couldn't 'see' them, they'd leave me be. There have been instances where I thought they had killed me but I don't wanna expand on that) after binging for sleepless days on end, thinking in my paranoid state of mind that the world is against me; 6,500,000,000 people against 1 of me. It's frightening because my mind can carry that ratio and expand on it, making it seem like the human populace throws misfortune and bad luck at me so that one day I will give up and fail; and in reality, all of life's lessons are tragic and coincidental and are shared by almost everyone of every shape, colour, class, race, and religion. Loss is inevitable and must be taken into consideration - nothing (save for love and hope) lasts forever. I've learned to appreciate my present companions but also despise them because I see all their faults in all the events where I've mistrusted them. They lie and cheat and try and save face but sometimes I do the same, so in turn I let all the wrong things that don't really matter slip away and I remain tied to them and their all-important companionship.
In my head and in my heart, I am alone. I cannot describe the loneliness that I feel because all of my emotions have numbed into slight sensations. I live life the same way every single day, sometimes moving forward into a better future, and other times I find myself laying wasted and mentally beaten dangling over the side of a couch or my bed. I feel like a zombie most of the time, except I'm aware and able to understand consequences such as driving straight into the back end of a traffic jam simply because for a crucial second, I wanted out; out of these problems and the hurt of people who judge, out of reach of my mom's hopes to be someone big and important, out of total responsibility of my brother when he gets older, out of connections with any and every little object, idea, or individual that have already or will one day make me break down and cry because I just couldn't handle all of the combined weights at once because I am weak when I'm on my own.
Ironically, what may cause my death is presently keeping me alive. Whenever I lose hope in myself, I drown my spirits in a chemical that chases all thoughts of doom away. I live for the moment and I momentarily forget everything else because when I am 'high', nothing else matters except for the fact that I'm alive and able to do all the things that I love doing (play guitar, cruise, draw, write [every few months or so], and sing) and for a couple hours of chemically-induced contentment I get a little closer to rock bottom but am able to keep struggling on. It's a strange price to pay - I can't live without it and I'll die if I keep abusing it.
If I leave town, my brother will be left alone (mom is a fieldworker and it's physically draining) and I can't just leave them like that. I could get clean if I leave but I can't do to him what was done to me as a child. I can't hurt him like that. Nor could I leave my mom because she's at the point where she might have to stop working the fields due to her worsening arthritis and above all, she came to this forsakened country so I could rise above and provide for when the time comes that she can't. And I accept that. I'll take care of them both no matter what.
I think I've solved all the basics that I'll have to work with for the next decade or so. I cannot see any farther in my future, and I've no reason to. The past year has been spent dwelling and trying to solve what went wrong in the past while things were falling apart in the present. Right now, I'm in pieces but it will get better. I know I have it in me the will to stop my addiction for reasons of necessity and the need to move on. Naturally competitive, I cringe at how behind I've gotten compared to my old high school friends and I'm aching to break free and excel in every way that I'm able to...
...SO I CAN MEET AND SURPASS THOSE MUTHAFUCKAHS AND GROOVE ACROSS THE METAPHORICAL FINISH LINE OF SUCCESS. WOO. (I mean no offense, I repeat, I mean no offense fellow students of class '06, BUT THIS ONLY APPLIES TO THE AP/HONORS STUDENTS 'CAUSE WE'RE LESS DUMBER. *runs*)
Fuck. I wrote a lot. I'll probably wake up tomorrow, read this post, and wonder how burnt/stuck I must've been to type up all of that crap. ;) Nah, but honestly, I mean every word of this post - it's all coming from thoughts I've discovered and ideas that I've put together along the dangerous path that I'm currently on. I don't know if I mean anything to whoever's reading this, I just really hope that you won't judge me from the first couple of paragraphs and automatically assume I'm one of those stereotypical junkies that wastes life away and dies a nobody, because I'm not and I won't. I dream just like you dream and I hurt just like you hurt. Thoughts and conclusions are reached/solved differently in each individual's mind, but emotions are universal (though I'm unsure about UFOs =S)l Hope can save lives but when it's lost, everything can be lost. When misfortune is accepted and dealt with at a young age, it's hard not to stay bitter; but the understanding of why tragedy and loss happens comes sooner than in a less dismal circumstance and acceptance is usually more easily attainable. But I've learned through many one-on-one conversations and rants that sometimes there are wounds that just never heal. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Crap. I'm really out of it. Good luck with reading this Season-7-Xander-Sized entry.
ps. I found it humorous in wishing you luck at the end of the long structured wordvomit.