I am addicted. To a lot of things; cigarettes and smoking, getting drunk in certain situations, sugar, sleeping, unhealthy food, coffee, being admired and liked.
Another semi-sleepless night later I’m at my desk at work. I have to pretend everything is okay and smile at people but all I can think of is jumping up, and running screaming straight through the window. The flight down from 4th floor would bring peace into my mind.
I can’t do it. I don’t like pain, well not always. Sometimes I do. I like the pain that you get when you burn your skin just ever so slightly with a cigarette. I like the pain that a piece of broken glass brings when you slide it down the arm. I like seeing the blood drip down, stain my skin. I liked trying to walk on my broken foot, imagining the bones get even more separated and thus prolonging my misery; a misery I liked wallowing in.
I am in a bad place and I fear there is no way out. I am wearing this mark that says I’m okay when I really am not, but I can’t let the world know.
Work is so … pointless. Why am I here? I just want to be in my bed, curled up in the blankets, staring out my window into the sky and watching the birds fly past. I want to be a bird, fly far away into the sky and chase the last rays of sunshine in the evenings.
But I’m here. for now. as me. and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it, so I might as well try as hard as I can to stay present. I count minutes until my rest, and until then, I shall remain seated on this chair, doing this shit.
Remain seated until I find me a cigarette. Hey, what is one addiction when I have conquered so many other things? The abuse didn’t kill me, neither did anorexia or bulimia. What is one more cigarette going to do to me????
Have a blessed day xx