Learning To Love

chapter 11

I sat in my car, staring at the house. I didn't know if I could go in it, I didn't know if I could do it. With everything going on in my life right now, this was the last thing I needed.

His car was right next to mine, it hadn't moved an inch. He's probably waiting for me to walk through that door. But of course, I couldn't empty handed, at which right now, I am. He expected money and not one part of me wanted to give it to him.

Pay rent? I shower literally twice a week, I barely eat and I'm never home.

The thought of food actually made the emptiness in my stomach noticable. I realized, through my depression, I once again forgot to eat.

I had eaten the other night, when I had fallen asleep at my desk, but that would've been the last thing I ate, which was two days ago.

I noticed the ache in my stomach and groaned. I hated eating. Food had no taste to it anymore. I quickly thought about how the doctors were always concerned about my weight and how much it changed. Sometimes, I wish I still had doctors, at least someone was looking after me.

I would go and get a bite to eat, go to an ATM, pull out some money and come home. Yes, it was decided. I should eat, if I want to get better, I have to do everything the doctors told me. Eating should've been an easy first rule, but it was the one I struggled with most. Everything I ate, came right back up.

I sighed. I still had Barbara's phone number in my wallet. Its almost been years, I would look like a failure if I went back. Besides, I've been clean for a long time now, I don't need it anymore. I just wish I could make the craving go away.

I thought about it as I drove out the parking lot, heading towards the nearest fast food place.

It all started with my mom's antidepressants. I started stealing them, hoping I wouldn't be sad anymore. They weren't strong enough, so I took more and more, until I couldn't go without them. They numbed everything and that's all I wanted.

It got hard to get a hold of those, after my mom had figured it out becuase her bottles were emptying way too quickly. Though she never told Robert, she knew why I did it and it just made her even more depressed. She would give me some here and there but, it wasn't enough.

I then moved onto weed, but found it didn't do anything and quickly chased after heroin. It was then that the real addiction started.

In highschool, I had a very bad influence of people in my life, apart from the band. A guy I knew had introduced me to heroin, though we were only able to get the cheap shit, so we used needles.

I remembered boiling the brown sticky tar into a liquid. The way it felt as it slowly poured into my veins. Nothing felt better than the numbness that over took my whole body. The feeling of being everywhere and no where at all.

Nothing could bug you, nothing could reach you. You were stuck in your own little world. Robert could beat the piss out of me, but I wasn't even there. Numbness, a feeling that was unbelievable. Not just the way it made you feel emotionally, but physically, it felt like you were floating.

Even without the drugs, I felt numb. But it wasn't the same. The kind of numbness that the heroin gave me was a safe heaven, it was a relief. No pain, no worry, just sweet relaxation. The numbness I felt sober, was me disassociating, becoming intolerant to pain and sadness. To the point that it consumed me.

His name was Tyler, the guy who first introduced it to me. A name I would never forget. We were out back having a smoke behind the school when he started talking about it. He told me that it made you feel happier, that it got rid of all of his problems.

I was lost, broken, abused and beaten. I was struggling with my identity at the time and was facing the truth about my sexuality. Even though I kept it a secret, the moment I surely figured out that I prefered men, I hated myself even more. Robert wasn't only an abusive animal, his toxic masculinity was in high tides. Homophobic comments seemed to be his favourite, apart from relating me to a woman.

We went over to the tree line and he showed me how to shoot it up. There was different ways to take it, but we always used needles. The first time I was terrified but optimistic.

The feeling of being invincible. Nothing felt better than that high.

We started taking it after class in the trees every now and then, then every week, then everyday, soon twice a day, Sometimes three. It took me five weeks to get hooked to the point that, if I didn't have it, I was destructive.

I'd do anything to get the money, shovel a million neighbors lawns, mow their grass, started gardening for people. I didn't have the job then, so I was stuck bumming off of pocket change. Getting as much as I could with the little I had. I started choosing it over food, groceries, people, everything.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead. I found myself calculating my progress a lot. Thinking about where it all started, how it started, reflecting on how it felt and why I did it. It was all I did sometimes, just sit back and reflect.

Unlike him, I got better. If I stuck around, I would've ended up overdosing just like him. I felt bad that he couldn't get enough help, but I was glad I got out of that awful hell.

I didn't look back when it came to Tyler. For all I know, I hated him. Not enough be settled by his death. It just made me sad, sad to look at where I could've ended up. But also to look at myself and he where could have as well. He was my enabler, my dealer.

I swore I would never do it again. But like vampires thirsted for blood, I craved to feel nothing, becuase happiness wasn't achievable and numbness was the closest I could get. I sighed, pulling into a drive through.

"Hey there, can I just get two of your spicy sandwiches please." I called into the microphone, my stomach growling.

"Is that everything?" The speaker asked.

"Yep." I replied, dreading having to eat.

I drove up to the window, paid for my meal and waited in the warm sun, it highlighting the dust in my car.

Robert quickly noticed, hell he's done every drug under the sun. Of course he could tell. Then he was even more abusive, and the beatings were brutal. My mother couldn't take it, she would cry desperately.

The window opened and a woman handed me a paper bag after I paid. I smiled and thanked them, driving off.

Driving into the parking lot, I turned the car off and unbuckled my seatbelt. The bag of warm food filled the small car with its smell as I opened it up.

It actually tasted pretty nice, I mean it wasn't bad. I hated the feeling of it going past my throat and the way it sat in my stomach.

I sighed, munching the food, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

I've come a long way, but the question always remained. Why? Why am I doing this? Who is it for?

Everyone else but me.