Spoiler Alert...
I was standing at the kitchen sink looking down at a pot that contained water and elbow macaroni hot off the stove. I can't tell you how long I had been standing there, that way, being so very still. Still, that is but for the streaming tears racing each other to my jawline. What I do know is that each moment was painful. Each moment was torture. And each moment felt like a thousand years.
In each and everyone one of those moments, I was battling the disease inside of my brain that told me the only way I could get pain pills was to pour that pot of scalding water on my arm. I was trying to silence that voice while simultaneously willing myself to stop being a coward and give myself a 2nd-degree burn. I had come to the conclusion that causing myself grave bodily harm would be the only way an ER doctor would prescribe me pain pills.
Something had gone wrong in my head, a filthy and heartless virus attached itself to it and was steadily spreading. It was sprouting limbs and attaching roots anywhere it could thus rendering my brain functions mercilessly flawed.
More than the obvious desperation I was experiencing, I remember the intense feelings of loneliness, hopelessness, and longing. I was home alone. It was another night that I had begged J to stay home with me, to just be with me. Another night that he refused. Looking back I can't say that I blame him; I was coming up on a week or so of not showering. It was yet another night of wishing I could stop the cyclone I was feeding and that that was growing by the second. I just wanted to keep my head above water, I wanted to go back to before the pills...and I wanted my mom.
Tonight I steamed broccoli for my dinner. I found myself at the kitchen sink looking down at a pot that contained scalding water hot off the stove, no pasta this time, but here I was again. I had a flashback and tears immediately began rolling down my cheeks. I could feel my pain from that night, my anguish. I wanted to hug her, that girl at the kitchen sink from three years and some odd months ago. She didn't think she was worthy of love, she hated herself.
She didn't think life would ever get better or that she could ever break out of her prison of addiction.
Spoiler alert: It did get better, I escaped.
In each and everyone one of those moments, I was battling the disease inside of my brain that told me the only way I could get pain pills was to pour that pot of scalding water on my arm. I was trying to silence that voice while simultaneously willing myself to stop being a coward and give myself a 2nd-degree burn. I had come to the conclusion that causing myself grave bodily harm would be the only way an ER doctor would prescribe me pain pills.
Something had gone wrong in my head, a filthy and heartless virus attached itself to it and was steadily spreading. It was sprouting limbs and attaching roots anywhere it could thus rendering my brain functions mercilessly flawed.
More than the obvious desperation I was experiencing, I remember the intense feelings of loneliness, hopelessness, and longing. I was home alone. It was another night that I had begged J to stay home with me, to just be with me. Another night that he refused. Looking back I can't say that I blame him; I was coming up on a week or so of not showering. It was yet another night of wishing I could stop the cyclone I was feeding and that that was growing by the second. I just wanted to keep my head above water, I wanted to go back to before the pills...and I wanted my mom.
Tonight I steamed broccoli for my dinner. I found myself at the kitchen sink looking down at a pot that contained scalding water hot off the stove, no pasta this time, but here I was again. I had a flashback and tears immediately began rolling down my cheeks. I could feel my pain from that night, my anguish. I wanted to hug her, that girl at the kitchen sink from three years and some odd months ago. She didn't think she was worthy of love, she hated herself.
She didn't think life would ever get better or that she could ever break out of her prison of addiction.
Spoiler alert: It did get better, I escaped.
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