I never wanted to be an addict. I don't think any of us do. One day you think you are normal, living a normal life, and then one day there is concrete proof that you are not.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

1st page of My Book: Am I Dead?

As I rise from the couch, something inside my mind snaps. My thoughts begin to race as I fight for air. Am I having a heart attack? I stare at the bodies around me. How the hell did I get here? Everything seems strangely familiar. My skin begins to itch. I stagger into the bathroom and plunge my fingers down my throat. Nothing.
I plead to Mason. "Get me out of this. Make it stop, please."
From the stunned look on his face he has no idea what is manifesting inside of me. Neither do I.
"Have a cigarette" mutters Sara, "get some rest".
They don’t give a shit about me. The last thing in the world I can do is rest. I pace frantically in my bedroom, changing in and out of clothes believing it will alter my state. I stumble into my pajamas, clench my eyes, and plead for sleep. My heart feels like it’s beating for a thousand people. The decay of the apartment charges through my nostrils as I inhale months of cigarette smoke that clings to the walls. My head throbs with confusion. Voices, footsteps, and sirens scream in my ears. I begin to pray, something I have not done in years. I have deprived myself of so many things that I once loved. I want to fall asleep instantly, wake up, and feel normal …whatever the fuck that is. If I could just split my skull open and reach inside to turn the switch off, I could make it stop. This is Hell. I suddenly glimpse myself from above. I must be dying. Am I dead?