Tell God I’m Asleep: A Memoir of Addiction

If only there was some way I could repeat that first time over again. Never got as good, only more urgent. And that urgency is what led to broken morals. I never did have much to begin with anyways. Which is why I am the way I am. I find it hard to believe that I had any say in the matter whatsoever. I continue to set myself to autopilot and just keep flying. Still dying. Death will happen anyways, why not die like a legend? Young, and full of hope from the outside. But inside, hope was swallowed whole a long time ago. And even time itself doesn’t matter, unless it’s time spent waiting without. Without the singular goal being achieved. Sooner or later the abysmal emptiness inside of me will show through my skin. The way my bones already do. Transparency eventually happens regardless of how much I lie. Dark circles around my eyes can’t entice you long enough to believe me. It’s unimpressive to say the least, a pity. But pity is what is keeping me sick. Unlike others, I knew who or what I was after that first time. Genetic connection between me and my bloodline or maybe just a product of the environment. Maybe both. When I start thinking, all I want to do is drown. Drown out the noise, drown out the world, drown out god. It’s amusing how the highs come like waves right after they’re spent. Spent like the monetary bullshit I use to feed my disease. The only time money matters is when it was gone. And beyond my using, I wanted to burn it anyways. Fight fire with fire. Can’t extinguish this ailment on my own. So take away everything but the drugs. Keep me upright enough to say my goodbyes. Then I can kiss the floor that will play the stage for my demise. I’m putting it to rest. Today, I give in. And tomorrow I’ll be gone.