I don't have a drug problem.
I don't need help.
I'm fine.
Stop asking.
I chug two bottles of cough syrup. Two more once I feel reality slowly slipping back into my perception.
Stop telling me I have a problem.
Yes, I stole over 100 of my father's painkillers. I couldn't stop myself. I needed an escape. I needed a way out of my daily torment from others, and worse, from myself. Whenever I'm off any substance, I can't tolerate myself. My demon shrieks at me for what a horrible person I have become.
YOU RUINED THEIR LIVES.
Pop a few pills.
YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A FAILURE.
Chug two more bottles.
YOU ARE
NEVER
GOOD
ENOUGH.
Chug 4 bottles of cough syrup, completely ruining a what was supposed to be exciting school field trip, crashing into a tree as I tried to sit by my best friend. I couldn't see. Couldn't feel. I was numb. I was free. I watched through barely open eyes as my friend grabbed me, struggling to keep me with the group. No one questioned what happened. No one wondered why. I just couldn't stop apologizing afterwards. I didn't just ruin my day, I ruined hers. I think the worst part was seeing myself that out of it. She sent me pictures later that she took, including the one that I fell trying to get to. My lids, barely open. My eyes seemed to be in another dimension.
This is fine.
I am fine.
I grab another handful of pills, crying.
I do not have a problem.
Drink. Swallow.
Drown the guilt. Drown the regrets.
The days get shorter, nights seem to never end. My appetite is nothingness. My mother yells again.
Drink a whole bottle of pure anise extract, just because it has alcohol in.
My right cheek has been scraped. Bruises and scrapes cover my legs. Random bruises appear all over my being. My eyes are dull, the once hopeful girl now just a meaningless shell. I twitch. I itch. Nothing feels real anymore. Everyone is a liar. They're all coming for me.
Take cough medicine pills, just because they have dextromethorphan, even though they also have an antihistamine in that gives me seizures.
I'm fine.
I don't need help.
I don't have a drug problem.
I scrounge through my room, through the house, for anything that can let me escape reality. I take 5 tablespoons of nutmeg. I take loads of acetaminophen just because there is dextromethorphan in it. I put a cotton from a nasal spray into lemon juice for 24 hours and chug that liquid abomination, just so I can feel good for a few hours.
I constantly want to throw up. My friends beg me to get help.
I'm becoming something I never thought I'd become.
But it's fine.
I can control it.
I don't have a problem.
