Focus

Hey, Who Turned The Lights Out?

Addictions are a bitch to quit. Sure, sure...this is something I should have learned from three years of sitting through River View's mandatory substance abuse courses. Okay, drugs are bad. Cool. Side effects duly noted. That's a chance I'm going to take at my own expense. My main problem at the moment is how ludicrously unprepared I was when I found out my addiction wasn't just drugs and sex. I'm also hopelessly hooked on Calum. Teachers don't tell you how to quit a person. There's no rehab for mending a broken heart, unless it's a divorced women empowerment book club that meets every Sunday or some shit. All I know is that I can't stop unless I quit entirely. So that's what I did. I haven't spoken to Calum in two weeks. Every few days, Ashton has come knocking at my front door. When I wouldn't answer, he would proceed to have a one-sided conversation with me through the door, explaining how broken up Calum is about what he did, how he can't sleep, how he hasn't eaten in days. My only response to this is to inhale a sizable amount of ecstasy and lock myself in the garage, blasting Aerosmith. All I've been doing lately is keeping myself on a constant buzz. I cut out the sex but doubled the drugs in the process. Now the only thing I can do is work out. Just keep going - just keep pedaling those wheels, just keep pushing on. A little harder, a little faster. For a while, in addition to all the weed, I kept a steady stream of Vicodin in my system. It gave me the juice I needed to get through the day, and I was feeling pretty good. Of course it was kind of expensive, so I had to take up an extra job at the library on weekends...but for the feeling it gives me, it was worth it.

Once I started band camp, my energy began draining quicker and quicker. I was only able to march a few minutes at a time before I started getting clammy and dizzy. I knew there was trouble when my vision would go black at the edges, so I bumped up the pace a little bit. My dealer gave me the address to a little hut on the outside of town, where I'm able to score a steady flow of cocaine. Let me just tell you, if you're given the option, always go for the hard stuff. It's like a completely different world. It kind of makes me feel invincible, too. Can't go wrong with a little extra high to get me ready for senior year, right? My plan is simple: sniff a pinch of the stuff every day before band practice to keep me going, then a few days before school starts, throw it all out and sober up. The last thing I need is a drugs bust going on my permanent record...yikes. Right now, we're in the third week of band camp, and I'm already one of the best marchers on the field. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, I guess you'd say. And the best part? No one seems to notice how my eyes are always red or how I can't really seem to focus on one spot at a time without wandering. This must be how superman feels. I'm so addicted to being on top.

Since I threw my phone into the pool, I haven't replaced it. Calum is no doubt still trying to get in touch with me, but I can't answer. That's not an option. I'm so strong now that if I show any sign of weakness, it'll ruin me - so now, every time I think about calling him, I go outside onto the back porch and light up to remind me of everything I have and what I've worked so hard for. That's not worth losing over some psychopath who almost took my head clean off. It's hard, yes. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I miss him. He was my first drug. The best. But I'm drowning the empty pit in my gut with as many different drugs as I can get and for now, that'll have to be good enough. Currently, it's 9:28 am on a Tuesday, and I'm standing in the middle of the band field stretching for warm up. I've already taken my daily dose of courage, so my muscles are tingling and I'm ready to kick ass. The morning air is cool around me, meaning that fall is soon approaching. It's August again. At this time last year, I was sitting with Amanda doing a summer research project for english. This trumps that any day. A few other people are on the field setting up the percussion instruments, but since I'm almost an hour early, I still have my entire patch of the concrete to myself. The silence is glorious. I sit cross legged on the black pavement and stretch my leg out to the side, straining my calf muscles as hard as I can. I wince as a shooting pain stabs through my leg and up into my thigh. Pain? That's not right. Stretching isn't supposed to hurt. I reach down and tenderly rub the back of my leg when a sudden wave of dizziness comes over me and I slump to the side. My elbow hits the concrete as my head begins to loll around on my neck. Keep it together, Hannah, I scold myself. Sit up.