This is always how it starts. The voices and music don’t come until much later. But this is how it starts.
The anger and the boredom build. Drown them both in wine. Then regret. And try to stop. Usually, on your own. Usually, it works. Overdose on B12 and fill yourself with water until your bladder bursts. Take cold water baths. Bath because you don’t want to seize and fall in the shower. Not too much water, because you don’t want to drown like Whitney Houston. Soft music. Shallow cold water. B12, B12, B12. Valium if you have it. Ativan, but that usually requires an ER visit. Lie down in the dark, someplace soft in case you seize and fall.
Who would choose this? Your judgment means nothing. I don’t want this any more than the people who love me want to watch it.
And I know you’re mad at me. I said some shit before I started trying to kick. That ain’t me. I mean, I guess it’s obviously a part of me. This fucking predilection. I guess I mean it, but it’s shit you don’t say out loud, yet you do when you’re fucked up.
Am I going to kick this time? Probably not forever. It’s a running joke among addicts of every kind: it’s so easy to quit, I’ve done it 75 times. But that, if there is one, is the devil. And when you dance with the devil, I promise you, the devil doesn’t change. You do.