The Night I Died

A story about the night I realized the importance of drugs.

I look around the fire, people sitting peacefully. They're all talking, laughing, smoking, having a good time. And I'm sitting too close to the fire. I feel the warmth on my face, the only warmth in the cold dark world or drugs that I've been introduced to. I was already familiar with the world of narcotics and prescription pills, but I had always done them alone. Now in the darkness of midnight on a winter night, I had finally entered the party life. Not like massive, frat parties with massive amounts of illegal alcohol and stolen champagne from some rich white kids parents. Not some party thrown by a kid who lives in the hills who's parents are out of town. This was my kind of party, just some good friends and some good vibes. But this was the night that I feel like I truly died inside, the day I realized that life is full of disappointment and dishonesty, death and injury, mental illness and madness. Nothing unusual happened on this night to make me realize it, I guess it was just the acid. Either way, though, that was the night I died inside. The night I realized that drugs are the only things that can fill this endless hole inside of me.