To The Moon and Back

𝟒𝟑 | 𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬

E P H E M E R I S

a table or data file giving the positions and apparent motion of celestial objects for a series of dates.

T O T H E
M O O N & B A C K

TIME SEEMS TO have flown by as I find myself in Toronto for over a month now. Everly's apartment has become my temporary home, as she goes about attending her classes. To be honest, I don't have many places to go around here, so I spend most of my time cooped up indoors. Fortunately, Harlow, Everly's best friend, has been keeping me company. He's a fuckwit, but his sharp wit and sarcastic humour are enough to keep me at least the slightest entertained.

It's not uncommon for me to wake up to an empty apartment, as Everly is usually out the door by the time I open my eyes. Her classes take up most of her day, leaving her exhausted and spent by the time she comes home in the evenings. Harlow, on the other hand, seems to have more free time on his hands. Although I have no idea what he's studying, he's always around, cracking jokes and keeping the energy up.

Harlow has always been socially awkward, but he makes up for it with his humour. Everly, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. She's kind, gentle, and always wears a smile on her face. Her unwavering honesty and inability to sugarcoat the truth make her a challenging person to take advice from, but I appreciate her no-nonsense approach. I don't mind being punched in the face with the cold, hard truth, but fortunately, she only dishes it out when I ask for it.

Being in Toronto for over a month now, I find myself spending most of my time in Everly's apartment, my temporary home while she attends her classes. It's a safe haven for me, but also a hiding place where I can keep my addiction from her. I don't want to be a burden on her, and I feel ashamed of my addiction. However, by not telling her, I'm also depriving myself of a support system that I desperately need.

I fall deeper into my depressive state, finding it difficult to find the motivation to even get out of bed most days. I lie there, listening to music, or simply staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in my own thoughts. My mind often wanders to Rory, the girl I left behind without a word, and how much I miss her.

But even the thought of her can't break me out of my slump. I struggle to eat, forcing myself to eat occasionally, but most of the time, I just skip meals. I know I should be taking care of myself, but the thought of recovery seems too overwhelming, and I feel like there's no point in trying. It's a constant battle, and I can't seem to find the strength to pull myself out of the darkness.

Addiction is a suffocating experience, a constant struggle to break free from the chains of temptation. The craving for the drug is insatiable, the rush of euphoria fleeting. And yet, despite the self-loathing that follows, the cycle repeats, trapping me in a downward spiral.

Sometimes, I wish society could view drug use through a different lens, one that doesn't make me feel like a social outcast. In a perfect world, I could still have Rory and a loving family, even while using drugs. But the reality is harsh, and both addiction and depression are diseases that require management, or else they will be fatal.

Love is the only feeling that has ever brought me any solace and just imagining having all that just for one person's presence on this planet, being willing to spare your life for theirs, to starve just so that they can eat, to endure all the pain in the world, just so that they can live a life unscathed, and have them, despite all of that, choose to end their existence. . .that kills me.

I know I need help, but I don't know how to ask for it. The shame and guilt of my addiction suffocate me, making it impossible to reach out to anyone. I'm drowning, and I don't know how to swim.