The feeling of liberation when you intoxicate yourself is, in and of itself, intoxicating. Knowing you’re not in control and knowing it’s all raw and all you…. That’s a high of its own.
Feeling the weight of consciousness escape from your soul’s touch and be temporarily passed down to your drug of choice is bliss, and nothing else in this world can compare except love.
The fear of taking your reins once more is enormous- like a lifelong sentence of mental illness called humanity.
Crying is liberating. Crying when you’re not you but you’re watching yourself unfold and unwind.. It’s exhilarating. Watching and knowing that you can relax and think and forgive yourself and overcome life is rewarding. You’re getting to know your soul your skin your cells your molecules your atoms your electrons…
You’re fine with knowing that you’ll never fully know where they stand in your organism because they’re there and they hug you.
Your skin begins to slowly fly away, like a dandelion being blown by the salty ocean breeze…. You just want to disappear and be the air you breathe in. You want to purify the oxygen entering your nostrils and tickling your lungs you want to-
You want to be the air going in and out of your singular self because you know that you can care for yourself and that you won’t hurt yourself and you… You trust yourself to keep you safe. You trust yourself to not hurt yourself and have your mind’s best interest in your future but then you wake up one day and that future is gone.
Your future is cut into shreds and you see your tiny self on the ground, bleeding, lost.
I miss you, Laura. You were beautiful and now you’re lost behind a label and you don’t know what to do.
There’s a secret beautify in seeing yourself through the eyes of not you.
Knowing that you’re not in control is the best feeling, isn’t it? Knowing that you- you’re not you and knowing that when you sober up you’ve forgotten all of the things that were running through your head…Knowing… Knowing very well that all you can do is block things out when you’re gone. Knowing that being intoxicated is the best feeling to fixing your issues… Every drink, every roll, every puff….. It’s as relieving as the feeling of puss leaving an infected pore- a pimple.
You start forgetting the things you’ve gone through. But then again, you never really forget.
It’s always in the back of your mind and always in the butt of your jokes.
Anytime you’re gone and not yourself you fall back into the thing that hurts you.
It’s like the medication you seek is the poison that kills you. It’s a destructive cycle and you can’t help but to keep pedaling your bicycle thinking you don’t need to stop for help when you know you’ve seen that 75mph speed limit sign about 79 times. You know you’re falling deeper into your pit, and you blew your engine, so you just peddle faster only to go slower….
I feel like the air was knocked out from my lungs, and placed on my face for me to keep clawing at in order to raise the edges of my lips for a smile. I have no one here with me, yet my skin is tingling…. reminding me that I’ve been touched before.
There is pain inside me. There is anger inside me, and I wonder sometimes how the anger snuck in. There’s never a day that goes by without me wondering how on this earth did I manage to get injected with that terrible emotion.