Neurosis

Five different people. Five different problems.

Ch. 2 Matt -16-

Recently, my mom just let me back into her life.  My dad...not so much.  But I'll take it because I need it.  If I don't, I'll have nowhere else to go except to crash at my buddy's, but his place sucks a*s.  I'm sitting on top of my car, at the gas station and I need a joint.  I've been sober for a week now.  No alcohol, no smoking, no snorting, but I'm pretty sure I'll come around to it any moment.  Any second.  Life's hysterically boring without the high and I can't believe I lived a life without it.  It's like a rollercoaster.  The up, the thrill of going down so fast you can't even see where you're going  it's great for a while.  The results, when I wake up the next day, sucks.  But, hey, at least for the while I'm satisfied.  And that's all that really matters.  What's happening this moment, right now, today.  I don't even have to worry about tomorrow.  Because, really, all's I have is now.

And today, I need my speed.

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As soon as I opened the door, my mom welcomed me, crying and all happy and s**t that I was back.  I was just glad I've have a place to crash if things went downhill.  I hugged my mom back and she insisted on helping me with the shitload I had back in my car.  Which wasn't really anything, but the leftover stash I had hidden where no one could find it and some old clothes that haven't been washed for weeks.

So the only reason I'm back is because I promised I'd go back to school and I'd get help at a rehab s**t place.  The only things I hear about rehabs are bad things.  It's a shitload in there.  I'm not going there.  Maybe I'll drive up there every now and then just to satisfy my mom and let her think I'm doing it weekly...but hell I know I'm not doing it for real.  It's just a bunch of fuckheads trying to keep us from doing the only thing we really know how to do.  Crank.  I can sell it, I can buy it, I can use it, it's everything for me.  It makes me world go round.  Without it, I wouldn't even have the clothes on my back.  And really that's basically all I have.  It's my ice, it's the s**t; I have some of it where ever I go.  It's always with me. 

Some people call meth, "P".  I call it speed.  It gives me the rush to keep on going.  I'd be a deadbeat without it.  I set up a "lab" for it once.  The cops busted me and my drug buddies at a motel trying to clean all that s**t up because someone ratted us out.  I never found out who did it.  I still want revenge.

I know what you're thinking.  I got busted, I got kicked out of my own home, I dropped out of school, and lost most of my old friends.  I mean, I have new friends...ones that share the thrill with me...but I kind of miss my old ones.  I used to like school, but I got tired of it.  And I love my family, but they sucked the fun out of everything.  I couldn't get a high with my little brother prancing around me, wondering why I was nervous all the time.  Truth is, I don't know why I love meth so much.  I just do.  And its a sad day when I don't know whether it's done more good or bad for me.  Its a sad day when I'm not really sure what I'm doing anymore.  I don't know what my future is.  I haven't figure that out.

I am living for today.  And, so far, that's all.

[Ch. 3 Aaron -16 -]

 

Reviews

[O. Ragnarok]

Carpe Diem - Seize the day. That's the only reaction I have to this character. he is one who sees what he wants, takes it, and gives thefinger to anyone who stands in his way.
The best was your description of his "high." " The up, the thrill of going down so fast you can't even see where you're going it's great for a while. " Lovely work. But a little too stiff. I know it was good, but not quite great. Not what it should be. I read your description, had a good idea of what he was doing, but it felt too clinical. Like something one would read in a magazine, or a second-hand account. Not what I want to hear from an addict. An addict should'nt even be mentioning the crash afterwards.
All-in-all, though, I still liked it. I saw potential here, and that's what really counts, right?