Gutsy Guava #5
I couldn’t be sure if the hazy air was a result of a weather anomaly, or the aftermath of the drugs.
I could be sure that it didn’t matter anymore, really.
I had woken an hour earlier in a friend’s house downtown, practically dragged off of the couch and all but thrown out the door, my body had apparently impeded on the post-party cleaning frenzy that came earlier with each passing weekend. As walked down the street, a pulsing headache and sore arms mocked me as every new years resolution, promise, and therapy session ordered by my parents came flooding back in waves of guilt and self-resentment.
Those sixth-grade anti drug movies, about 18 year-olds with brains that MRI’s revealed to be equivalent to a 60 year-olds.
Those ex-junkies who spoke at assemblies, trying to hard to steer the impressionable youth away from destitution and addiction.
The way my mother would look at me when I told her I was going out for the night, and that she could trust me.
My tone when I said that I wasn’t stupid
All of it hovered around me, creating small voids in the foggy air as they moved with me down the street. I inwardly repeated that guilt and regret were biochemical reactions, and that last night I had the utmost confidence in my brain chemistry altering decisions.
But even then I wasn’t sure.
I rubbed my eyes while turning to look for a coffee shop where I could eat that wasn’t a starbucks. It was harder than it should have been, and sleeping in contact lenses did nothing to expedite the process. Having deviated 2 blocks from my original course home, I managed to find a hole-in-the wall café where the cappuccino I ordered was excellent, as was the croissant. The warmth, and my first food in what seemed to be ages did little but remind me that reliance on substances is necessary, and that some of my choices worked hard against sustaining me.
My eyes still hurt.
So did my head.
And I felt pretty bad about things, about my life, about my health. I had heard the sayings, the maxims, and the mottos. That it wasn’t a party if it happened every night, and health being a priority.
The sun crested the horizon, illuminating the dewy air.
I sighed.
I was tired, and needed sleep if I wanted energy to go out tonight,
I could be sure that it didn’t matter anymore, really.
I had woken an hour earlier in a friend’s house downtown, practically dragged off of the couch and all but thrown out the door, my body had apparently impeded on the post-party cleaning frenzy that came earlier with each passing weekend. As walked down the street, a pulsing headache and sore arms mocked me as every new years resolution, promise, and therapy session ordered by my parents came flooding back in waves of guilt and self-resentment.
Those sixth-grade anti drug movies, about 18 year-olds with brains that MRI’s revealed to be equivalent to a 60 year-olds.
Those ex-junkies who spoke at assemblies, trying to hard to steer the impressionable youth away from destitution and addiction.
The way my mother would look at me when I told her I was going out for the night, and that she could trust me.
My tone when I said that I wasn’t stupid
All of it hovered around me, creating small voids in the foggy air as they moved with me down the street. I inwardly repeated that guilt and regret were biochemical reactions, and that last night I had the utmost confidence in my brain chemistry altering decisions.
But even then I wasn’t sure.
I rubbed my eyes while turning to look for a coffee shop where I could eat that wasn’t a starbucks. It was harder than it should have been, and sleeping in contact lenses did nothing to expedite the process. Having deviated 2 blocks from my original course home, I managed to find a hole-in-the wall café where the cappuccino I ordered was excellent, as was the croissant. The warmth, and my first food in what seemed to be ages did little but remind me that reliance on substances is necessary, and that some of my choices worked hard against sustaining me.
My eyes still hurt.
So did my head.
And I felt pretty bad about things, about my life, about my health. I had heard the sayings, the maxims, and the mottos. That it wasn’t a party if it happened every night, and health being a priority.
The sun crested the horizon, illuminating the dewy air.
I sighed.
I was tired, and needed sleep if I wanted energy to go out tonight,
posted by Anonymous at 10:40 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home