The Naked Underneath

Bethamy
Bethamy
Jul 22, 2017 · 3 min read

I’m just going to write this as it comes. The painstaking attention to detail, precision of language and endless revisions have no place here. Not right now. The grammatical quality and structure of this piece is not my priority at the moment. The raw first draft is a more honest representation of my state of being, my mental health and the last scrap of motivation I can wring from my parched spirit. Frankly, it is a raw first draft or nothing.

I do not know much about this platform, Medium. I searched for blogging platforms that focus particularly on writing. I heard about Medium a while ago so I had an idea, and was meaning to check it out before now, but before now I had been meaning to get to a lot of the items that would have been on the list that I had been meaning to write. The situation is dire, although at the moment I am clinging to the spark of hope that has been ignited from my starting this post, so that’s something, hopefully.

To be brutally honest, which is what everything I write is going to be, I am not sure that I have any business writing here. At first glance it seems that there are actual, real writers publishing real writings on this platform. I am not a writer as far as I know, but I do have something to write about. Whether my thoughts come out as a coherent string of words or not is to be seen. All I know is that it has been a long time coming. Writing all this rot out of my mind, body, soul and spirit is the only solution that I have left that I can think of. And it is not going to be pretty. I may embarrass myself, I will be humiliated but I can’t care anymore. It is suicide or write myself free.

To jump straight to the point, right here and now, I can share with you the only things that I think I have figured out. By that I mean the root, the seed, that thing that you find when you strip away all the layers and get to the source. I am sick of struggling with the layers. The layers hide the humiliation, the guilt, the embarrassment and shame. I don’t have the patience for pride anymore. I either want to die or fix my life. So here is what I look like naked.

I am terrified.

My entire being is paralyzed by fear, and I am stuck. That is the root, the core.

Wrapped around that fear is addiction. I am an addict. I do cocaine on a regular basis and I am terrified that I cannot function normally without it. In fact, I finished the last of my stash about an hour ago and I do not want to do it anymore. It is the thing that I cannot get past. It is the thing that has driven me to write. I don’t know what else to do. I have to figure myself out and I am going to write it out until there is none left, regardless of how pathetic it makes me appear. I have no patience left for pride. It’s fix me or kill me. Here goes…