Sixteen Days awake part two

In many ways, I hate myself. I hate the way I look, the sound of my own voice. I feel stupid, inadequate, and useless. Or at least this was how I felt as a young drug addict. Drugs are supposed to help a person escape into a place where reality mixed with sedation creates a hybrid of a bearable existence. What came out of my experience with crystal meth was that I hated the feelings but using was a snap decision. It creates an illusion that you are not addicted because you are not forced to use on the same timetable as with heroin. Crystal gives you the delusion of mastery over the jones. I do not NEED this, I just WANT it so I am so much better off.

A good speed run is known as the Jenny Crank diet- give us a week and we will take off the weight. In the sixteen days, I know I ate food. I'm sure my mouth was full of sores from dehydration and every bite was a labored effort to get the dry bits of nourishment past my aching teeth that I had been grinding for days. At one point, I remember standing still for hours barefoot in front of the hotel people watching or as we like to call it "stuck on stupid". At a certain point of exhaustion, the brain has loops. It will stop. You will stop somewhere in the middle of an activity and sit or stand there for hours. No food, no sleep, no ability to move- awesome! But wait- there are days more. 

On the last days of my speed run, I had torn up the floor tiles. I was hallucinating that it was ancient money and I had to clean it up in the bathtub. Various friends I had came in and gave witness to this scene. They cried real tears. They were the last people left from my old life in Cincinnati. They knew the part of myself that had not traveled out of the city. I was broken by the streets. One by one, they had filed past me and determined I was a lost cause. 

I finally came to after passing out. I suspect people might have given me some heroin so I could get some rest. "Where is my dope?!" I began tearing up the area around my bed. I was surrounded by a few familiar faces. The look of concern was lost on me. "Where is my dope?!" I had a bag of speed. I had a whole half gram. It was right here.

"We used it to pay for your room." A chill went up my spine. My face got flush."who in the fuck told you to do that?! Those were MY fucking drugs. "

The mood changed from concern to something entirely different. At that moment, the hope was sucked out of that $35 dollar a night hotel room. It was not the drugs that were the problem. I was the problem. I had crossed that line into the ungrateful selfish addict who cared nothing about the feelings of others. I just wanted a god damn hit. 

My friend, one of my best friends I ever had, left with tears in his eyes thinking I was an ungrateful bitch. And I was. Our friendship died on the 16th day. I traded every last bit of love I had left to kill myself in secret and obsess about how much I hated me, now just a little more.