If drugs were a woman, I would have cheated on other women as a man and girls as a boy. Frequently, fearlessly, with no thought given as to who I was hurting, including myself. She isn’t, but I love her, nonetheless.
She’s responsible for the death of not only my best friend in the entire world, but also more people whom I grew up calling friends, and just people I knew from my old neighborhood growing up, than she let live freely.
Even those she didn’t murder in cold blood – some slowly but surely, others rapidly – she turned into shells of their former selves. She made it her business to ensure no business would hire them and their flesh and blood didn’t recognize them or want them around. They didn’t care. Scratch that, WE didn’t care, because I was and am them. I’m told I can treat it, but not cure it – a phrase that, now that I’m 37, I've heard far more often than I'd have liked to in medical facilities by professionals who know what they’re talking about. Nonetheless, here we are.
I love drugs as much as I hate them, I’ll never not think about them at least at random. Even if it’s just the thought I can’t use them and truly live. I mean, I can – I just know it’ll take me back to barely existing and wanting to. Anytime I’m ready to let it lead me back into a life where I woke up every day, mad I woke up every day. Maybe one day, she’ll suck me back in, and I’ll probably suck then – as a friend, and family member, and I'll be far from a feasible spouse or partner of any kind to everyone.
I’m just grateful to say that day wasn’t today and can only pray – to whoever it is that listens to such from humans as infallible and imperfect as myself, and sometimes even grants them to me – that tomorrow won’t be either.
I called drugs and substances of almost every kind I’ve ever tried my first true love, because it’s true, they were. They took me out of myself. I invested far more time and money in them willingly than I ever did into any other relationship I had. Thankfully, I can say, that was then, and this is now.
Love stinks, especially when it isn’t reciprocated . No drug, substance, or drink I ever put in me, nor any corner I ever stood on because of them, ever loved me back. No matter how much chivalry I showed her or money I blew on her at random, rapidly at times.
She’d always play the same song, “Can’t Buy Me Love,” before she walked out on me and found the next sucker with a buck they were willing to give up. Other souls, she could kidnap and lives she could purposely ruin, in every way, shape, and form. She found them all right. Killed most of them and kept the rest as indentured servants. I thank the sky above me every day that she no longer has her hold on me, and hopefully never will again, if the universe and all that’s good in it is willing.
Photo Credit: celsopupo / iStock via Getty Images Plus
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