Sober

I lie in bed rolling my eyes so far back I think I can see the gates of hell. Why are the gates of hell in my own head? Because I must be Satan, that's why. No one else understands except God and I. We fight, sure, but he loves me just as much as he loves you. 

But enough about love. There's enough of that in the atmosphere to kill someone. Love toxicity, love poisoning, venom in the veins, all because someone winked at me. I guess I'm hyperfocused on things that don't matter because every single one of my true loves have left me. Well, perhaps they didn't leave me, but they were ripped away. Ripped away by a brand new antidepressant. I am uncomfortable with the spare time I have, about thirty minutes a day spent on lighting cigarettes and sucking smoke, but I don't want that anymore. I guess I should be happy to be spared from the metal grip of tobacco. But that isn't the only thing that's missing. 

Unfortunately Welbutrin doesn't curb my appetite for the white. That devil powder, those prescription pills mixed together like some assortment of halloween candy, crushed, smoothed, and sent all over the world to make someone's life significantly more difficult. I was lucky, I wasn't doing an eight ball a day, but I do have some really dark secrets that I haven't even come to terms with myself. Sad thoughts, trifling with the wrong girl. I have no room for you anymore. I have writing on my mirror, I have a schedule (who would have EVER thought) I have chores that I can finally do. I guess my dopamine is back at a regular level.