An excerpt from comatised:
On Thursday I fell from grace. I'd like to say that there was too much pressure and that I just couldn't control myself, but that would be a lie. I consciously went out and did what I did and I hate myself for doing it. I hate that I took our money that was supposed to be for other things and bought that poison. I hate that I left my phone at home so that I couldn't be reached to be talked out of what I was doing. I worried Dennis and he nearly called the police. I knew if I heard his voice asking where I had gone, I would turn around and come home. I didn't want to come home. I didn't want to hear his voice. I just wanted the release of heroin and that's what I went after.
The new guy selling as a much more potent batch than Byron. Byron sold a cheaper, sleezier batch, but this guy sells a batch so strong that one sees fuzzy tan blankets over their eyes. It was hard to stumble to my car, but I was able to do so. The new guy also is far more afraid to sell to those who don't use. Use in front of him, or you can't buy from him. I'm secretly glad that I chose to use in front of him, rather than bring it home and have to hide it for a few hours until Dennis fell asleep and Zinnia stopped crying for the night.
The drive home was interesting. The tan blanket was gone by the time I reached the car. I was seeing sparks, waves in front of my eyes. Lights, puddles, the moon, they all reflected that light in front of my eyes. I wasn't light headed, but I was dizzy. The world was moving at a normal speed, so I felt I was safe to drive. I've driven home waaaay more tipsy than that before. In a way, I wasn't really high. I felt good, but I felt better than when I was high the last time.
The morning after, I hated myself. I made excuses for myself and then immediately hated myself some more. The morning after, there was no excuse for what I had done. Worried my family, lied, "borrowed" the car without anyone knowing. I want to say that I had fun, but I can't even convince myself that I did that. I am just weak. I cannot beat this, and I'm beginning to think that I never will. That I will always be like this, sneaky, sick and generally a weirdo, after one thing. Jimmy was right about me. I'll never change, and at the rate I am going, I will never have anyone close to me because of it.