Finding Relief

October 6, 2010
By Anonymous

School. Work. Gymnastics Practice. Home. Eat. Homework. Bed. Repeat the cycle.

My cycle. My life. Until…

Percs. School. Gymnastics Practice. Home. Eat. Percs. Homework. Bed (sort of.) Repeat cycle.

And then…

PERCS<3. School (distracted beyond belief, think about taking more percs.) Work (starting to have problems, can’t focus, need more pers.) Gymnastics Practice (I was getting better somehow, longer practices.) Home (can’t stand talking to anyone in my family.) Eat (or snack throughout the day and skip dinner most days.) PERCS<3 (highlight of my day, clearly.)Homework (no. just no. I did what I could; my mind elsewhere…got the rest from friends the next morning, so my grades weren’t awful.) PERCS<3. Bed (…I lay in bed yes, listening to music all night long, slept here and there, my days sort of just blended.) Repeat the cycle.

So I suppose that’s how I eventually ended up here…

It was the middle of the night, and I silently glided down the hallway, opening the bathroom door nonchalantly. Flicking on the light switch, the bulb flickered momentarily, and then lit the small room with a hospital like glow. I opened the cabinet quietly, as to prevent it from squeaking my family awake. My eyes lightly scanned the array of pill bottles, orange and glistening in the sickening bathroom light. I finally alighted upon something hidden in the back. A small bottle of red liquid. Cough syrup. Was I really going to do this? Wasn’t the usual for me, sickly, angry, sad, me. But nobody saw that. I was fake, a shell of the former me, but nobody knew that. They were all too consumed in their own lives, and so I was still the same Rachel. I managed to ‘manage’ my addiction; I had a routine of only taking percs three times a day. This late night ‘snack’ was a whim. I had a horrible day, and all I wanted to do was to get high. The blunt hadn’t done anything. Weed was penny candy compared to how high I got from my Wonka Factory of percs. But I had run out. I needed to get some more from my best friend, my supplier at school, the only person I truly loved, and not only because he could get me what I needed. So I got up from my bed, hoping to find relief elsewhere. And the crimson of the cough syrup allured me. It sat in the back, forgotten and neglected; only used for the occasional cold. ‘Why leave it to go to waste?’ I whispered the words aloud to myself, staring at the bottle, its powers calling to me, taunting me. I reached out an emaciated arm towards the bottle, and carefully navigated it out from the maze of other medications, ones that weren’t worthy in my eyes. I cradled the bottle of syrup sickeningly in my hands, and for the first time in a long time, I heard something in the back of my mind. It was sort of a voice, but by now I had trained my conscience to stay quiet, at all times. What I heard was more of a vibration in the back of my skull, telling me to put the bottle back, and go to bed. No. It was too late. Half of me knew that this wasn’t part of what I had ingrained in my mind to be ‘alright,’ and the other half didn’t care; all it wanted was to crack the cap on the bottle, and forget everything…

The author's comments:
This was written as a fiction piece, stemming from some other problems that had arisen in my life at the time. The drug abusive represents how i felt about the circumstances in my life, and my literal desire to be the person taking drugs to escape it all.

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