A Lost Apology

A Lost Apology

A Story by Colin H.
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A story about addiction. I wrote it for a school project.

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The story I am about to tell is not about myself; in fact, it actually begins with my death.  This is a story about who I have become, or in other words, what has replaced me.  Before I begin, however, there are a few things I would like to make known.  First, this is not a story to make you fear drugs, nor to glamorize them; this is very simply an account of exactly what happened, and I suppose it’s up to you to decide if the fault belongs to drugs, to myself, or even to other people.  Second, I do not, at any point, intend to create any means of an excuse for what I have done; I do not, for any reason, wish to be pardoned for my actions, but merely to be understood.  I can only really only hope that through my words you can truly interpret things for yourself.  Finally, I’d like to communicate that this is not a story to be taken lightly.  If you intend to hear me at all, then it is imperative that you actually listen, whether you want to hear the end or not.  Additionally, I will warn you that there will be nothing happy about the end of my story, if you can even call it an end at all.  However, you have no obligation to hear what I have to say; this story is mine, and mine alone, so therefore I can not force my words on you.  I can’t promise that you will gain anything from my story, either (although I hope that you do).  The only reason I’ve made this account at all is to express and help myself… though I can see that things for me are drawing to an end, I still find it unbearable to keep this inside any longer.  As I may have said, I think I now crave attention almost as much as my addiction.  Well, without any further ado, let me begin.

            I’ll start by saying that I’ve never truly felt like I’ve been accepted.  I guess I’ve always been what you would consider a “nerd”.  I’ve been excluded from friendships because of my substandard looks, my “unsocial” behavior, or my general preference of fantasy over reality.  That is not to say that I’ve never had friends; since kindergarten, I’ve had two wonderful friends who have stuck with me through everything… or almost everything.  Their names are Tyler Scott, and Daniel Green.  The three of us grew up on the same street, and our parents were all good friends.  We would play together whenever our parents held a party, or a barbeque, or any other occasion; we all go along very well.  As we aged, our interests developed similarly.  We all became obsessed with fantasy stories, movies, books, and video games.  By the time we were in 6th grade, we were hanging out every weekend at one of our houses, drinking soda and staying up late.  We’d play video games and watch movies for hours, and get lost in our own little fantasy world; one that let us hide from the horrors of reality.

            School was a nightmare for us, me in particular.  I looked very awkward; I was taller than average, and I had long curly hair that was always getting caught in my glasses.  I stood on that fine line between average and overweight, and it looked ridiculous.  In short, I was an ugly kid trying to make his way in school.  I was always laughed at for my attempts.  Aside from Tyler and Daniel, there was not a living soul at school who liked me, and it only got worse.  In the past, my grades had been pretty good, but by the second half of 7th grade, they had begun to drop.  I couldn’t help it, really; they were just the last things on my mind.  Not only was I under much pressure from my teachers and the kids from the school, but in junior high I had started to like this girl named Caroline; I couldn’t do anything but think about her in all of my classes, and I never could figure out why.  Granted, she was very pretty, but she was just like the rest of the school.  She was stuck up, popular, and of course, hated me.  But when I looked in her eyes… as cheesy as it sounds, I could see that there was something different about her.  I could see that she cared.  So I went through 6th and 7th grade thinking of her, and wondering what I wouldn’t do to get her to like me, even just a little.

            The years went by like this, and nothing really got better.  The weekends I spent with my only friends were all that kept me going.  By my freshman year of high school, I had reached a state of numbness.  I became immune to the jokes directed at me, or the countless people that laughed at my appearance.  I got to where I didn’t even feel like crying anymore when I walked through the hallways I received countless looks of disgust.  I had grown used to the pain, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it to go away, and though I had Tyler and Scott to keep me going, I still needed to be accepted by the world.

            It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I finally built up the nerve to actually talk to Caroline.  It had been a rough day; I had just failed a test in history, and some idiot had thought it was funny to paint obscene words all over my locker.  I had just walked into the cafeteria, and I saw some little prissy girl look up at me with that familiar look of disgust.  I then reached an epiphany… I had officially sunken to my lowest.  There was no point in fearing absolute rejection anymore; I was already at that point.  So, standing there, with the hate of the world on my shoulders, I bit my tongue, and sat down next to her.

            “H-hey,” I stammered.  She looked at me, and there was a moment where the world seemed to stand still.  I saw that deep caring in her eyes, and I thought that I had finally gotten some luck in my life.  After that, however, she gave me the “look”.  I had yet again received the look of disgust that I was now so used to.  Her mouth curved… she was trying not to laugh at my feeble attempt to be social.  I think I could’ve cried.  All I was trying to do was be friendly enough for her to want to talk to me.  Really, I was trying to do and be exactly what she wanted.  Why was it that I was always rejected for trying to please other people?

            At that moment, a tall, skinny kid with smooth black hair sat down with us.

            “Hey, Ben,” Caroline said from beside me.

            “Who’s this?” he questioned without answering her, gesturing to me.  I decided to speak up; I would be noticed.

            “I’m Matt,” I said firmly, looking Ben in the eyes.

            “Okay,” he said in a manor that suggested he never really cared that much.  Ignoring me completely, he turned to Caroline.  “Are we still good for this weekend?” he asked her.

            “Yeah,” she said, smiling.

            “What’s going on this weekend?” I asked without even thinking about it.

            Ben looked at me with surprised curiosity, and then began to laugh, “We were just gonna chill with some friends this weekend,” he said.  In a very joking manor, he then added, “Do you want to come?”

            “Yeah,” I said, quickly, and Ben stopped laughing.  It was very obvious that he hadn’t been serious.

            “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m not sure you’d be… into the stuff we’re into.”  At this, he began to laugh again, and Caroline began to laugh a bit, too.

            “Yeah I would,” I said without thinking, again.

            Ben looked at Caroline, “Is this kid cool?”

            Before Caroline could answer, I spoke again.  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m cool.”  He seemed taken aback by my confidence, and shrugged.

            “Okay,” he said, “why not?”

            Ben’s room was very dark; it was hard to see the faces that surrounded me.  I barely even noticed the half-smoked joint in my hand… it was as if I was in a trance.  What was I doing?  This wasn’t like me at all.  How much further could I possibly go for acceptance?  My question was answered when Ben started something else…

            “Isn’t crack…” I stuttered, “Isn’t it… like, really addictive?”  I was scared, and it was obvious.

            “Nah, man,” someone in the dark said, “it’s just a good time.”

            “I-I don’t think I want to…” I said.

            Ben looked at me, and began to laugh again.  “Suit your self, man,” he said, and shot a glance at Caroline.  She was laughing; she was laughing at me.  I felt terrible, but suddenly a voice crept up inside me, whispering, why not?

            “Why not,” I said before any thoughts processed through my mind, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

            I have never in my life felt anything like the beautiful rush I had… ever.  It was as if during that small amount of time… I was free.  I could live my own fantasy world, and escape from the harshness of reality.  In all my years that fantasy and reality had battled in my mind, fantasy had finally won.  However, it was over in a matter of minutes.  Reality seemed to fade back, and the intense speed of everything seemed to slow down yet again.  I was left to feel like the little kid at an amusement park, squealing at his parents, “I wanna go again! I wanna go again! 

            I did “go again”.  I did it over and over, many times before the night was through.  I thought I had successfully found a way to finally live in fantasy.  That night was the greatest night of my young life.

            The next morning, my parents came to pick me up… they had no clue!  Although I was very excited with the new fun I had discovered, I couldn’t help but let myself be bothered by their repetitive questions:

            “What did you guys do?”

            “Who all was there?”

            “Were his parents nice?”

            “Did you have fun?”

            They were the kind of parents who loved me, and it was obvious.  We had always been fairly close, and they knew me enough to know that I wasn’t stupid.  That just meant that if I was stupid, they wouldn’t stand for it.  They knew that I knew the consequences of my actions, and that I knew better than most kids.  If I ever got myself in a bad situation, no matter how much they loved me, they let me know that it was my fault and it was up to me to get out of it.

            As their questions kept piling up, I began to grow very snappy.  I told them that was very tired, and didn’t feel like talking.

            I did the same thing the next weekend… and the next… and the next.  A month went by, and I was having the time of my life.  Every night that I went out and got high with my new friends, the more they seemed to appreciate me… Caroline did as well.  I began to spend more time with her than my other friends… I got so many more chances to see those caring eyes than I ever had before, and I even started to experience what it was like to have her care about me.  I was having the time of my life, and I was looking forward to my weekends even more than before; even at school, Caroline and I began to hang out.  We even smoked a few joints behind the school every now and again.  There was only one minor annoyance.  Each time my friends and I smoked crack, I got more excited than the last time, and it began to grow very obvious.  They would always tell me to calm down, and that I shouldn’t freak out over it so much.  Why shouldn’t I have freaked out over it, though?  It was so wonderful; my only escape.  After time, I began to realize that I loved-needed it more than they did. 

            Unfortunately, I hadn’t had any chances to hang out with Tyler or Daniel over the previous months, and I really did miss them; but I didn’t have any time to think about that, as life was just flowing with adventure and entertainment.  I didn’t really need them, anyway.  I was gaining more friends and popularity than I had ever dreamed of, and I got to share a common adventure with all of them.

            I began to realize a simple fact; only doing it on the weekends was not enough.  I needed more than that.  I talked to Ben, and he gave me the number of a guy from whom I could buy it from.  It wasn’t that hard to do so, as I received money for daily chores around my house, and my parents never bothered me with what I spent my money on.  I would have enough money to buy what I needed, so I could have all of the rush I wanted.  I even celebrated by asking Caroline to be my girlfriend.  She actually said yes!  After all those years I had hoped for something more, I had finally gotten it.  The girl I had always wanted was mine, I had all the drugs I needed, and I had friends that finally accepted me.  Life was beautiful at last.

            “Matt?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I don’t think I want to get high tonight.”

            I looked over at Caroline; we were standing outside of the movie theater, deciding on what movie we would go to later.  I cracked a smile, and put my arm around her.  I began to laugh.

            “Why not?” I asked.

            “I don’t know…” she began, “it just seems like it’s all we do, lately.  Besides, it’s not as fun if that’s how we always are.” 

            “Come on, Caroline,” I said, smiling down at her, refusing to back down, “It’ll be fun.  We can do it right before we go into the movie,” a devilish smile broke across my face, “what do you think?”

            She looked at me, and that care that she had shone so brightly through her eyes; it didn’t warm my heart like it used to.

            “Please?” she asked quietly.

            I sighed, with a slight hint of impatience.

            “We’ll see,” I said.  We did end up doing it.

            I constantly needed more; months went by, and I began to wonder how I’d ever lived with out it… I wondered how anyone could live without it.  I found it very hard to believe that I was the only one who craved it so much.  I began to want more, and therefore needed more money.  I started to sell items in my house that seemed like nobody was using them.  The more money I made, the more I bought; the more I bought, the more money I needed.  It became obvious to everyone what I was doing, even Tyler and Daniel.  They even confronted me about it.

            “Matt…” Tyler began, “we know what you’ve been doing.”

There was a short silence, which I broke by saying, “So?”

            So?” Daniel repeated in shock, “Do you know what you’ve been doing?”

            I snarled, “What do you want?”

            “We want you to stop,” Tyler said very seriously.  I was beginning to get annoyed…

            “Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?”  My voice was getting lower… I was feeling grouchy and impatient, as I had with my parents and Caroline.

            “Look, Matt,” said Tyler, “We care about…”

            “Shut up!”

            I had screamed very loudly; Tyler and Daniel’s eyes had widened in surprise and showed a twinge of fear.  They began to back away.

            “I don’t need you,” I said… what was I doing?  Of course I needed them.  They were all that kept me going, and as much as I loved the way my life was going, a part of me longed so desperately to back to those times we spent together on the weekends.  I backed away, and said, “You’ve always held me back; now I finally have real friends, and a real life, like we always wanted.  And you guys are trying to take that away from me?”  My anger was taking control.  I had never really yelled at anyone like this, let alone Tyler or Daniel.  I was constantly feeling guilty, but I still felt as if I needed to let them know how I felt, and how I really didn’t need them anymore.

            “Go away,” I said, turning around, “I hate you both.”  I walked away, leaving them staring after me; I never spoke to them again for the rest of my life.

            I couldn’t keep up with how much I was buying, anymore.  I was very quickly running out of ways to get money… but I needed it.  This drug brought me so much, and it felt so right.  Nothing seemed normal without it, anymore. 

            For the next couple of months, I borrowed money off of friends to feed my habit; eventually, it became a basic part of my day to ask friends for money.  I was taking hundreds in every day, and spending it within hours.  Still, I needed more.  I was already selling things, earning money, and borrowing it as well, so how could I get more money?  A thought began to creep into my head… if people would give me the money, anyway, then would it be so wrong just to take a little bit more from them?  So, at that point, I began to take small bills from available wallets or purses whenever I had the chance.  People never seemed to notice that anything was missing (or least they never made a big deal out of it), so I saw no wrong in what I was doing.  They had more than enough for themselves.  I needed more, though, so I started to take just a tiny amount more… and I kept taking more.  They always seemed to have so much, though; it wasn’t fair, was it?  I was just doing myself a justice.

            I was stealing more and more (though I never saw it as stealing), and another month flew by.  I was practically surviving on other peoples’ money, and I never did feel guilty; not until I found myself taking money from Caroline’s purse.

            “What’re you doing?”

            We were in my room; my parents hadn’t come home yet… and I had thought she was in the bathroom.  I froze, and stared up at her.

            “I… wanted to get some money… so I could get some… uh, stuff for us… for later.”

            She stared at me, her eyes widened in disbelief.  “Were you…” she said uneasily, “stealing from me?”

            “No!” I said, a little too quickly, “Why would I do that?  This is for both of us.”

            There followed the longest silence I think I have ever experienced in my life.  A look of concern came over her and that caring was exposed again; how I had grown to hate it.  She walked over to me, and said quietly, “Matt,” she put her hand on my shoulder as she spoke, “I think you have a… problem.”

            I wanted to laugh; what a cliché thing to say!  She was not who I remembered her to be.

            “I don’t,” I said coldly, the familiar anger rising up in me again… if only I could get high right then…

            “Matt,” she tried again, “I think you should take a break from all of this.”  I was shocked; I hadn’t expected this from her.

            “No,” I snapped, “I need this.  I thought you understood.”

            “Look, I’m so sorry we got you into all of this, we shouldn’t have pressured you.  But I think it’s time that we quit.”

            I stared at her in absolute horror; I began to feel a little hurt.

            “I can’t do that,” I said, beginning to hold back tears, “I told you, I need this.”  Why was I so emotional over it?

            Caroline was beginning to cry.  Great, I thought, this wasn’t helping me at all.  She continued crying, saying words that I couldn’t comprehend at the moment.  I was becoming sick with desire.  I couldn’t listen to her or even function anymore with the increasing anger and sadness I felt.  I needed to get high, fast.

            “Look,” I said, “I can’t talk right now; we need to get high, just so I can calm down and think straight… just give me some money and I can have some stuff here really quickly.”

            She looked at me tearfully, and whispered, “No.”  I felt another sharp pain of hurt run through me, and my anger doubled.  What was she thinking in denying me like that?  Was she trying to get me killed?

            “Give me some money, now,” I said, a little more forcefully, “I can’t keep going without it.”

            She backed away from me, speaking very quietly.  “What did we do to you?” she said.  I was getting angrier; I wanted to hit her, but instead I spoke firmly again.

            “Come here,” I said.

            “No.”

            I snapped.  “I just want some money, you little b****!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.  She recoiled in fear, and her sobs increased.  I felt a small twinge of guilt; I had never said anything like that to anyone, especially not her.  However, my rage overcame my guilt, and I started at her.  In a flash, she turned and ran from the room.  I swore loudly in my solitude.  It was the last time I ever spoke to her again, as well.

            I slammed the door to my house.  It had been two weeks since I had screamed at Caroline, and they had been awful.  I hadn’t spoken to any of my friends; they had all begun to ignore me, now.  I also noticed that people seemed to keep a better eye on their possessions when I was around; I guess it had become common knowledge that I couldn’t be trusted.  The looks of revulsion I used to get were now replaced with looks of fear… was I so scary?

            I was lost in these thoughts when I heard my mom calling me.  I froze; I had sold a lot of her things in the past couple of weeks…

            I entered the kitchen, and my mom was sitting at the table waiting for me; she looked very concerned.

            “I have some supper ready for you, Matt.”

            “I’m not hungry; hey, Mom, I’m really tired.  I just need to go get some sleep.”

            “Matt,” she tried again, “everyday you’ve been coming home and going straight to your room.  You don’t even eat anymore!  Look at you; you look like you’ve lost fifty pounds in the past month!”

            “Mom, I’m fine.”

            She paused for a minute, looking anxious.  Then, she said, “I called your school.”

            I stiffened, “Oh?”

            “You haven’t been eating lunch.  You haven’t even been turning your lunch money in.”

            There was a long silence, and it took everything I had to break it.

            “Mom, I’m really tired…”

            “What have you been spending that money on?”

            “Nothing,” I said quickly.  She didn’t seem to like that answer very much; she bit her lip, staring right at me.  She seemed to be evaluating me.  After what seemed like hours, she spoke again.

            “Matt, I’m sorry, I really just have to ask you… have you been buying- drugs?”

            Instantly, I became defensive, and that anger I only felt while I was sober was very quickly rising.

            “No!” I said loudly, not able to believe that she didn’t have more trust for me, “You know me!”

            “Then what have you been spending your money on?”

            I stared at her coldly for a moment, and then turned away.

            “I’ve been spending my money on the drink machines at school; I haven’t been hungry at lunch.” I began to walk towards my room, “I’m really, really tired, Mom,” I called back, “I’m going to get some rest.”

            “But…”

            I left the room before she could finish speaking.  Instead of heading to my room, I went to the upstairs bathroom and locked the door.  I stared at myself in the mirror, and I really looked for the first time in months.  I no longer resembled the awkward, full, and nerdy kid; I now looked like someone out of a horror movie.  My eyes had sunken in, and they were very bloodshot; they were underlined by dark circles below them from nights without sleep, and my cheek bones had become quite visible.  My body no longer had that awkward phase that comes between normality and chunkiness that had given me that odd look; I was now beyond thin, and obviously very underweight.  My reflection looked as if the person I saws had been starving for days, and yet I felt no hunger… not for anything edible, at least.  I looked dead, different, and even unrecognizable.  What I saw scared even me, and I began to cry.  I began to see what was happening to me.  I think that the true horror was that even then I failed to see what the cause of it all was.  I stood in the bathroom for over an hour, looking into the mirror and sobbing; all I wanted, the only thing I wanted, was to be happy.  I had tried so hard for so many years to lead a happy life, and I had finally made friends and turned things around, but I had lost them all.  There was only one thing I found in my life long search that could still keep me happy, and it was costing me everything not to lose it.  I needed it more than I ever had before; I was so unbearably unhappy, and I desperately needed my addiction to block out the pain.  I had no more money, and I had lost all those who could help me pay… my tears cleared, and an idea came to me.  In my distraught state, I remembered seeing my mom’s purse lying open on the downstairs counter…

            Three weeks passed, and I was so caught up in the moment that the probability of being caught didn’t even enter my mind.  By the third week of cashing checks and finding ATM’s, I had begun to spend over a thousand dollars a day; I was skipping school and was able to remain constantly high.  I spent my nights up in my room with crack, and my parents had no idea.  I began to hate them for their stupidity and ignorance, and hate my friends for abandoning me.  I slowly started to hate myself for the sheer pain I felt when I wasn’t high; the only thing I loved at all anymore was the crack; but I wanted even more.  When I was high, nothing seemed out of my limits, and I would sneak pills and take them with large amounts of alcohol.  I became very unhealthy, passing out every night instead of falling asleep every night; I was constantly puking, as well.  I had lost even more wait, and I could never stop shaking anymore.  At that point, I don’t think I ever went five minutes without intoxicating myself.  I didn’t even realize that it was killing me.

            A month of this had gone by, and I was lying down on my bed.  I had just gotten home, and I was starting to come down from my high.  I needed to go again, so I opened my drawer to get more… it wasn’t there.  I stared at the empty space, and suddenly pulled the drawer clean out from its shelf; I heard it fall to the ground, and felt splinters ricochet everywhere.  I overturned my desk, pulled out all of my clothes, pulled my bed apart, and even searched the clothes I was wearing; I found nothing, and I began swearing loudly.  I turned, and saw my parents standing in my doorway.  I froze, and my hatred began to boil.

            “Matt,” my father said sternly (I could barely notice my mother crying), “we need to talk.”

            “Later,” I muttered, and continued to search my room.

            “It isn’t there,” my father said, “we’ve taken all of it.”

            I swore again and turned on them in revulsion.  My mom looked fearful, but my dad kept going.

            “We got a call from the school,” he said, “you haven’t shown up in weeks.”  My mom began to cry even harder, and I only stared at my dad with hate.

            “We got another call from the bank,” he said, “we know what you’ve been doing, Matt.”

            My mother spoke for the first time, “We-we only want to help… we need to help you… stop…” 
            “No!” I screamed at her, and she recoiled in a way very similar to Caroline.  I was beginning to feel a rage the likes of which I have never felt in my life.  My high was going away fast, and I needed it back.

            “Give it to me,” I hissed, “give it all back.”

            “No, honey,” Mom whispered, “we can’t do that.”

            I screamed again, and began do desperately search my room again; there had to be something they overlooked. 

            “Stop it,” my father said, “you don’t realize the trouble you’re in; we could call the police, you know.”

            I let out yet another roar of frustration, and turned on them; I had to get out… I needed to get away from them and see what I could get my hands on…

            “I’m going,” I said.

            “You don’t understand,” my father said angrily, “you aren’t going anywhere.  We aren’t going to let you poison your self anymore.”

            “No, you don’t understand!” I yelled, “I need this!  Let me out!”  He stared at me for what seemed like ages, and in fury and defeat he roared back.  “Fine, go ahead,” he said challengingly, “ruin your life.”  He stood to the side.  My mom, however, stayed exactly where she was.  I advanced on her, and spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Move.”

            Her lips were trembling, and she whispered tearfully back, “No.”

            I did something then that I can never forget nor forgive; I hit my mother in her frightened and heartbroken face as hard as I could, and then I watched her fall.  The one thing that makes me feel the absolute worst is that I felt nothing.  I stepped over her unconscious body and left my father standing completely frozen in shock and horror.

            Once I was outside, I began to run.  On my way out, I had retrieved a knife from the kitchen and downed a bottle of beer.  Barely feeling any sort of high, I ran in confusion down the street, and before I knew it, I found myself at Ben’s house.  Not wanting to run into his parents, I went around to his window and tapped on it.  He came to the window and looked out at me in surprise.

            “Are your parents at home?”

            He looked at for a moment, and again he shook his head, no.
            “Let me in.”

            He looked at me even longer this time, and then shook his head, no, again.

            Without thinking, I drove the knife straight into his window.  Climbing in, I drove him against the wall and put the knife to his throat.

            “Give me everything you have,” I said quietly, “crack, pills, money; everything.”  To show him that I was serious, I let the knife cut into him ever so slightly.  His eyes were wide in terror, and tears were escaping him.

            “What’s happened to you?” he said.  I shoved him harder into the wall. 

“Give them to me!” I screamed as loud as I possibly could, and eventually, I got exactly what I wanted.

            I had taken everything from him; a fair amount of crack, his parents’ cash and credit card, a few bottles of pills that would do the trick, and a bit of alcohol as well.  I soon found myself as high as I’d ever been, and I still had a lot of money.  I can’t remember harming Ben at all when I left, but it didn’t matter at that point.  All that mattered was that I got more.  I somehow managed to find an ATM and make the largest extraction of my life, and make a call to my dealer.

            I opened my eyes, and was nearly blinded by the lights I saw.  I had no idea who I was, where I was, or even what I was.  I couldn’t stand, walk, speak, or even understand anything.  I merely existed, not knowing anything about my life, unaware that my fearful mother stood crying over me while I lay ignorantly in my hospital bed.

            As the weeks flew by, I gained back my basic motive skills.  I learned that I had been in a coma for months, and that traces of many more drugs than I ever really thought I had tried had been found in me; I had been so out of it that night that I hadn’t stopped at anything.  I had even been tested HIV+… God only knows what I did to cause that.  They had found me naked in the street, with bruises, cuts, and broken bones that we will never know how I got.  I’ve acquired permanent brain damage, and lost an arm due to an infection (they’ve guessed from a needle), and I have been told I will never walk again.  I should’ve died- I’m now officially considered a medical miracle.  After all of this, all I can think of is how much I still need the drugs.

            Five months later, I was released from the hospital, fortunate enough to somehow be to speak or communicate at all.  My father never spoke to me again, and my mother choked back tears every time she saw me.  To my knowledge, they have never forgiven me; I haven’t forgiven myself.

            As soon as I was released, Ben’s family pressed charges, and I was taken to court; Ben had needed several stitches, and I had stolen thousands of dollars from his family; I got off with five years in prison, and was required to live in a rehabilitation center upon release.

            I was 22 when I was finally released from prison; I had gone years without any drug at all… the desire was still there, but I no longer felt as if I was dying.  I had no where to live, and no means of finding a job; my parents wouldn’t help me at all.  Therefore, I welcomed rehab with open arms.  It provided me with food and shelter, and it would even help me keep my addiction under even stronger control.

            The first few months I spent at rehab were bearable… although I hated the depressing atmosphere.  As months flew by, however, I began to despise it.  It felt like I was in a hospital for the dead, and it was as if everywhere I looked I saw pain and sadness.  I sank into the deepest depression of my life.  I began to see the beautiful irony; the one place that was supposed to aid my addiction had begun to make me crave it more than ever.  I longed desperately to feel that rush again… just one more time…  My mother and father had completely abandoned me.  I was completely alone…  I began to have constant nightmares; dreams of drugs, prison, and my parents.  I missed my family so much; I hadn’t heard from them in years.  Everyday, I hoped-prayed that my parents would come for me, and at least try to set me free from that hell.  They never did.  I was left alone to dream and crave…

            “This place got you down, man?”

            I turned, and looked at the speaker.  He was about my age, probably a little younger.  I hadn’t seen him around the place, before, so he must’ve been new.  I quickly recognized the way he was shaking…  With my remaining arm, I turned my wheelchair to face him.

            “What do you want?” I asked him.

            He smiled, “I… uh… snuck some stuff in here…” he said quietly, “ a lot of it; you interested?”

            No, I thought.

            “Yes,” I said.

            He smiled even wider, “All right, man.”

            I sat in my room, high at last.  I could only hope that there wasn’t an inspection anytime soon… but that wasn’t what was on my mind.  I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about something else the guy had said… he had told me that with some outside help, he could get me out of there.  I began to laugh to myself.  I didn’t have anything to worry about anymore.  I could escape the madness that society had put me in.  Their acceptance didn’t matter, anymore.  I would be free soon, and I could indulge myself in as much of my addictions as I waned.

            It’s been years since that day.  I’m homeless, jobless, and foodless.  I’ve been living on the street, barely noticeable to anyone; I’m just another handicapped man in a wheelchair to them.  I won’t go into details of what things are like, now; I don’t have to… I’m living off crack in the streets, for God’s sake.  At this point, I can no longer hope.  I can only miss what I had so long ago.  I miss my awkward teenage body… I miss my mother, who I almost killed all those years ago.  I miss my two friends, the only real ones I ever had, who left me; I can’t even remember their names at this point, I’m a wreck.  I especially miss Caroline, and the way she would look at me, with more care for me in her eyes than anyone else had ever had…

            I would give anything just to go back to the life I could’ve had.  I could’ve lived happily with my mother and father, my friends, my loves, and myself.  I so strongly wish I had seen how beautiful life was… when it still was.  Now, I’m stuck in a life I can’t stand to live in anymore.  In fact, I won’t live in it anymore.  My death won’t be a huge deal… I died years ago.  Now, as my hands clutch tighter around my fix, and tears pour down my face, I prepare myself for one final rush; suicide will seem less terrifying when I’m high.  I know that I am sobbing, but I do not cry for what has happened to me, or for what I have done.  What truly breaks my heart, now, is that I will never have a chance to tell my mother, my father, my friends, or anyone goodbye, and how deeply sorry I am.

© 2008 Colin H.


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This nearly brought me to tears. Though, who the fault resides with is only a matter of opinion, you did I fantastic job being unbiased leaving the reader to decide. Personally, I am of the opinion of personal fault. I know many people who I will see in similar conditions in the future, I also strongly oppose drugs becuase I fear this scenrio for me loved ones. I have at times considered such practices as a personal form of suicide. So I really connect with this piece or many levels. I sort of miss Matt now...

Posted 15 Years Ago


Wow. This was an incredibly powerful piece. I don't even really know what to say.... just, wow.

Posted 15 Years Ago



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Added on December 18, 2008

Author

Colin H.
Colin H.

Birmingham, AL



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My name is Colin, writing is my thing. more..

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