CHRYSALIS

37.

July 25th, 2021

Been a busy few days, but I'm back and ready to relive this shit some more I guess. I'll be honest Journal, I've been avoiding you. Mostly because I don't remember very much from this specific chunk of time we're diving into, and that makes me feel quite ashamed of my actions. I guess that was the point of it then, to forget. I didn't want to remember the choices I was making and I also didn't want to remember the choices that got me there. I knew what I was doing, I had done the same thing on my 3-month bender. Was it fun? Sure. I loved the lower inhibition and boost of confidence that a few lines of coke gives me. I love the way my body feels relaxed but also tingly when I smoke weed. I loved the lucid trip of LSD, but when you abuse them like I was to numb myself, they become very dangerous.

While I still feel ashamed of those choices, I don't regret them. I wouldn't be here right now without them. Well, maybe, but I think it would be different. I guess it might be better, but it's pretty good as is so I'll take it. Anyway, I'm here because my pink-haired therapist emailed me and asked if I'd written more. I think she bugged the apartment or something. I don't know how, but I think so.

So here we go, here is what I remember.

Jo.

March 7th. The Morning After.

It was everywhere. I had 73 text messages when I finally turned my phone on. Frankie, Nicki, Britt, Miranda, Tony, Dante, Jamie from the fucking hair salon, my Aunt, Marcus, the list was fucking endless, but the question was basically the same.

"Since when is Harry back with-"

I stopped reading them. I didn't respond to anyone. I was hungover and in a stranger's apartment, I was in no mood to deal with that question.

I remember looking around and trying to gather my surroundings.

I was fully dressed, so that was good.

I wasn't high anymore, also good.

Reggie?

Was that his name?

He was nowhere to be found, which was also good, unless I killed him.

I put my shoes on, stole a joint from his bedside table, and called an uber. I sat on the curb outside and smoked slowly until the Volkswagen pulled up and took me back to reality.

March 16th. Manchester, UK. Show 18.

I'd been talking to Nicki and Britt more often, they were the devils on my shoulder and that's exactly what I wanted.

I remember staying for most of the shows but then going out on my own afterward, sometimes I brought Dante with me.

The nights mostly followed the same routine of going out, getting drunk, meeting someone with drugs, taking those drugs, and then going back to their place.

I wanted to forget. I wanted to be lost in hazy passion, under the weight of a sweaty body, while the only thing on my mind was pleasure.

I choked every time. I couldn't go through with it. Every time their hands were on my body, they felt wrong. Every time they whispered my name, it sounded wrong.

He had broken me.

If I couldn't even be a "whore" now, what did I have left? Why was I able to sleep with Axel right after that weekend, but I couldn't do it now?

Over and over again I would go home with a gorgeous stranger, and panic at the last second. I'd drop to my knees instead, distract them with my mouth. Or I'd let them get me off, but it was never them I was picturing in my head.