Sunshine | H. S.

19

"Let's get high."

A cheeky grin formed on Nat's lips as we both got up from the floor carefully, my limbs stiff from how long I'd been sitting here. I walk into my room slowly because my joints still feel rusty and sore despite the pain from my fibromyalgia flare-up being almost gone. I immediately take off my clothes, the thought of wearing what Nathan saw me in for much longer being unbearable. After putting on a pair of leggings and a hoodie I walk over to my closet and open the sock drawer where I know the small metallic box I need right now is.

After moving the other contents of the drawer to the side I grab the light blue case and open it carefully, taking out one of several already rolled joints before I rearrange its contents meticulously so everything is in its place. The little plastic bag with weed, the joints, the filters and papers, and a few small, colorful pills.

Those are for another day though.

Maybe a special occasion.

This is my I need to not be sober right now box. I used to get high to numb the pain, ignore what was happening in my brain and that is a shit habit, it just delays your suffering. After the effect of whatever drug you took is over, the sadness and pain just hit you ten times harder, like your feelings resent you for trying to ignore them. At least weed doesn't give you head-splitting migraines and hangovers like alcohol.

Even though I never developed an addiction or true dependence on weed or other substances they were always a welcomed distraction, a way to make my brain fuzzy, turn bad times into good times for a little while, and a pathway to a place in my brain that wasn't infested with self-loathing thoughts, Nathan's abuse, my mother's hatred for me or my at the time seemingly endless anguish.

Thankfully I'm better now. Don't get me wrong, I'm still far from okay but I've developed coping mechanisms and don't want to jump off a bridge or out of a skyscraper window every other day.

Only about once every two weeks. 

Now drugs are for fun again, like they were before I found out how good of a distraction they can be sometimes. It might sound hypocritical of me because I had one of the worst days I've had in a while and now I'm about to smoke with my best friend but it's not about ignoring my problems, it's about feeling a bit better so I can think about it calmly and have a talk with Nat without ending up crying hysterically on the floor again.

And if I'm being honest, I like getting high from time to time. In the right setting and with the right people, some drugs can be a way to grow closer to a person, develop trust and reveal things you didn't even know were hidden away inside your subconscious. And weed is one of those drugs.

We're sitting on my bed, the smoke we inhaled slowly fogging our brains and I feel calmer, more relaxed. I feel safe. Nathan took that away from me this morning but right now, at this moment I feel like I've gotten a bit of that security back. He can't invade this space, he can't invade my home and it feels reassuring to know that his grip on my brain isn't as strong and lasting as it used to be, seeing him didn't leave me distraught and emotionally crippled for days like I'm sure it would have a while ago.

He used to pin me to the ground, hold me there. He convinced me that I could never get up, that I was weak and unlovable and now I'm here. I don't need him.

I'm floating.

This feels nice. This feels free.

Nat lets herself fall back onto the unnecessary amount of soft pillows on my bed and smiles up at the ceiling. Her eyes are bloodshot and half-closed, a dizzy grin on her strawberry-painted lips as she clearly does exactly what I am doing right now.