The Binge
" I hate my life "
I mumble to myself.
There is no one around to listen. The first thing I try to do is move my hands. They are swollen like hard rocks. I slept with them over my head on a pillow in hopes that the swelling would go down. My fingers look like sausages. They are bruised around the knuckles. I try to use my hands to push myself up but I am stopped by the intense throbbing pain in my hands.
What the fuck have I done to myself this time. I see myself in the mirror across the room. My eyes are also slightly swollen. The bags below them are creeping up like the rolling tide trying to keep my eyes closed. The last four days have been a blur. It started with the innocent idea of a little binge to reward myself. Somehow, I managed to have five days in a row off work. It started with a few shots and the bar and ended with me in this condition.
If I smoked, this would be a good time for a cigarette. If I could find my wallet, I could survey the rest of the damage. Surely, it must be empty. My chain wallet is still attached to my pants which is next to my mattress which is on the floor. These hands can't open the snaps on the wallet. I use my teeth to open the snaps. What is in here? Two dollars and a phone number written on a piece of paper. Who the fuck is this? I don't recognize the name. Some dealer I am sure. The world starts spinning. UGH. I better lay back down.
The throbbing in my hands is nearly unbearable. Four days ago I had this idea to celebrate. I could not find dope so I bought some coke. I had been shooting coke in my hands with an old battered syringe for four days. I had sharpened it on a matchbook in hopes it would magically slide in my skin like butter. The fishhook needle bore into my skin with vengance. But I could not stop. I needed more, I needed more, I needed more. By the time I finally found some dope, I was broke. AH- the number. I owe this person twenty dollars for a front. They want me to call them as soon as I get paid again. I owe them $20 for half a point of shitty dope plus I think I might have let them feel on my tits at the bar.
There is no one around to listen. The first thing I try to do is move my hands. They are swollen like hard rocks. I slept with them over my head on a pillow in hopes that the swelling would go down. My fingers look like sausages. They are bruised around the knuckles. I try to use my hands to push myself up but I am stopped by the intense throbbing pain in my hands.
What the fuck have I done to myself this time. I see myself in the mirror across the room. My eyes are also slightly swollen. The bags below them are creeping up like the rolling tide trying to keep my eyes closed. The last four days have been a blur. It started with the innocent idea of a little binge to reward myself. Somehow, I managed to have five days in a row off work. It started with a few shots and the bar and ended with me in this condition.
If I smoked, this would be a good time for a cigarette. If I could find my wallet, I could survey the rest of the damage. Surely, it must be empty. My chain wallet is still attached to my pants which is next to my mattress which is on the floor. These hands can't open the snaps on the wallet. I use my teeth to open the snaps. What is in here? Two dollars and a phone number written on a piece of paper. Who the fuck is this? I don't recognize the name. Some dealer I am sure. The world starts spinning. UGH. I better lay back down.
The throbbing in my hands is nearly unbearable. Four days ago I had this idea to celebrate. I could not find dope so I bought some coke. I had been shooting coke in my hands with an old battered syringe for four days. I had sharpened it on a matchbook in hopes it would magically slide in my skin like butter. The fishhook needle bore into my skin with vengance. But I could not stop. I needed more, I needed more, I needed more. By the time I finally found some dope, I was broke. AH- the number. I owe this person twenty dollars for a front. They want me to call them as soon as I get paid again. I owe them $20 for half a point of shitty dope plus I think I might have let them feel on my tits at the bar.
I put my hand across my eyes. Both are throbbing in unison. I am going to go back to sleep and pray for better luck. Good thing my phone was cut off so I can have some peace.
Great writing!
ReplyDeletethanks!
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