It’s Over Now

I didn’t say anything for a while. I was thinking about it, picturing things, weighing up the consequences of leaving everything behind—my life, my friends, my drugs. It was a struggle for me, they could tell. They had no way of knowing how much of a struggle, but if the look in my eyes was anything to go by, it was a bigger struggle than anyone could even imagine. It was as if there were two separate people inside my head, fighting each other for what they wanted. . .

Fighting to the death.

They wanted to talk about things, but they weren’t sure where to start. There was so much to talk about. . . and so much they didn’t know, about opiates, addiction, withdrawal. . . they didn’t even know if I wanted to stop using. It seemed like a pretty simple decision to them, if I stopped using, I wouldn’t have to do the things I did, and then I wouldn’t have to live the life I was living. What could be simpler than that? But then again, what did they know? They’d never been addicted to anything. They didn’t have a clue how it felt. Of course, they knew how it felt to want something. But wanting something so much they’d give up everything else to get it?

That was beyond them.

They knew they had to try and understand it though, which was why they wanted to talk about it. But like I said, they didn’t know where to start. And besides, I was starting to nod off, my heavy eyes beginning to close, my shoulders were slumping, my head was resting on the wall.

They tried; they tried really hard to understand.

But it wasn’t possible. It still isn’t possible to grasp what their daughter was going through. But that’s okay.

It’s over now.


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