You helped inspire me.
You helped save me.
And now you’re gone from that part of my life.
I speak your words when I’m in the rooms.
I speak your words inside my head.
To calm me down, to clean me up.
I speak words you forgot how to say.
I speak words that lost their meaning to you.
But that’s just how it goes right?
Everything is so finite.
Nothing lasts forever.
I hope you’re right.
But deep down I hope you’re wrong.
And bigger parts of me feel that you are.
What we had can’t ever be again.
I can smile at the progress achieved with your help.
I can laugh at the good times shared.
I can cry to say goodbye.
I can completely lose it when I realize how much this hurts.
And believe me, it feels like heaven and hell met inside my heart to go to war.
But that’s just how it goes right?
I keep hearing people tell me to try and understand that this is a part of it.
That this is all a part of the journey.
But it doesn’t have to be.
You just made it so.
So now I have to go, I have to grow.
Beyond the soil you planted to watch a seed grow.
I’m sorry you ran out of water and oxygen.
You told me you couldn’t sustain what you planted.
And you’re right, you can’t.
You forced my hand.
Regardless if you feel it’s what’s best for you.
Addiction is such a damn cunning enemy.
I just never thought it would’ve brought me here.
I hope I see you back in one piece in a room.
I hope the next time we meet isn’t half buried in the dirt.
I hope my tears don’t have to say goodbye to a box covered with flowers, filled with broken potential.
I hope and that’s all I can do..
Today my heart was filled with more sadness.
These past couple months haven’t been much better.
I’ve been a mess since you decided to go ahead and pull that trigger.
In your words, “To find out the truth.”
Is it true? Do addicts bleed?
Because I’ve been bleeding from this hole in my chest since we said goodbye.
I didn’t need any proof, but you believed all the lies.
Those lies we tell ourselves late at night when we’re all alone.
We won’t tell our loved ones about them but we hear their whispers as we sleep.
We dream of using and of flying but in reality this disease just wants us to keep dying.
So what does dying feel like?
I’ve been curious to see what it’s like being the old me.
What’s it like being the old you?
These are questions that wouldn’t even register in that head of yours.
A head filled up with these cancerous tumors we haven’t got a clue how to cure.
Only how to manage, how to arrest.
So we can maybe be the best versions of ourselves.
Well I don’t like this version of me.
I’m not my best and I’m scared now I never will be.
I’m sick and I know it.
You’re sick and you don’t know it.
I’m violently tossing and turning in my half sleep state, rivaling every natural disaster.
I’m puking my guts out at meetings just to feel like there’s still some life fighting within me.
All I taste is ash and all I see is red.
I’m in the anger stage but I’m like a man chained down watching his life pass.
Every second waiting for the next thing to drop.
Drop dead like I’ve seen in these visions thousands of times.
Addicts dying, filling every statistic written about this disease.
I’ve driven myself mad combing over our last conversation again and again.
Looking for some shred of hope you hinted at coming back around.
Still nothing yet but that hasn’t stopped me.
The definition of insanity becoming clearer and clearer every damn day.
Hope has fled my soul as fast as the breath escapes my lungs when I think of you these days.
These days I have so many questions and very little answers.
I guess I want to hear your answer to this question the most:
What does dying feel like?
Because the gravity of this pain you brought is killing me.