Yeah, yeah. You know, I was crazy before. And if you watched me get sober last time, you would know, the further out we get from quit day, the crazier I get. Whatever.
But I believe that emotions exist for a reason. My life as it is is presently intolerable, which is why I can’t tolerate it.
And that’s half the point with those drug rants. Because believe it or not, the cravings have stopped. Even in the throes of the depression, when I’m bawling so hard my body shakes, I don’t want to use. And I wasn’t trying to talk society into supporting my relapse. I was just explaining why people are fucking stupid. No agenda.
I’m having a mental breakdown. Begging for help. I’m not about to relapse, I don’t give a fuck about using. The guy in 140 at the Motel 6 sells clear. He told me so. So does the guy that approached me walking home from the store. And the guy sitting in his truck at the Super 8 showed me two bags of the shit and invited me to get high with him. I’m with Brian now, and all I would have to do is say the magic words. Two days ago, he was ready to walk across town for it. I never asked. He’s sober with me instead.
So whatever. I mean, guys, I turned 13 in the psych ward for attempting suicide. I’ve been crazy. Meth is just the first thing that helped me handle it. Which I know to you sounds crazy.
Still, I don’t mourn the loss. I do mourn the loss of a sense of control, safety, confidence, the sense that this didn’t have to always be my life. I miss feeling like I mattered, or like I could. I miss being so calm on the inside that it didn’t matter whether anyone else gave a fuck. I miss feeling like I’ve got me.
But here’s the thing: depression goes away. It just takes time. I don’t deal with it like you people do, by medicating it away, or by pretending it doesn’t exist. I feel it, all the way, every piece of it. It overcomes me and I let it. At the bottom, sometimes when I’ve literally got the knife to my wrist, sometimes after I make a little cut, sometimes after I call the cops on myself cuz I’m scared as hell of what I might do, I find it. I find this little bit of hope, this little bit of me that wants to keep living my life, and I’m resurrected. In a moment, I’m brand new and it’s like it never happened.
And that will happen now, but I need room to fall. I need a safe place to land, and I don’t have it.
I’m not asking for anything besides a safe place to land.