Sincerely October

Melancholy

A vent chapter

Talking myself down
Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.
You know this is something you want to live without.
You don't want to go back there.
You won't get away with it, you never do.
Remember why you stopped last time and the time before that.
You're not the only one who is affected by this, everyone will hurt because of you.
People have to leave at some point, don't push them out the door.
You have a chance to pick up the pieces, don't ruin things again.
Don't make them leave you, don't make them go.
You are always grateful when you ignore the urges, you are always relieved when you don't give in, so don't.
You don't want to be this type of man, you don't want to fail like last time and the time before that.
You don't want to die, you don't want to get sober again, you don't want to detox again.
You want to live happily and peacefully and the drugs won't give you that.

Early sobriety
You close your eyes to go to sleep and movies play in your mind, you dream about the drugs in a way that is so lifelike, you wake up wishing your subconscious would let this go.
You want so intensely, you wish to feel the sun radiating from your chest, you miss the internal summer, but you don't live that way anymore.
You obsess over the memories, replaying them in your mind like highlights from your favorite movie, the sad scenes slip through your mind, your instincts tell you to relive to good times, but you must remember that they came with far more lonely evenings than sunday mornings.
Things are beautiful, you finally feel the winter coming to an end. You despise this, you are surprised you've made it this far. You're doing poorly, you've never been better, it's all true.
You had to throw out your old CDs, they all remind you of days past.
It's not hard to bring you back, everything reminds you of it, public bathrooms, runny noses, conversations, it all reminds you of what you are trying to forget.
You write endlessly about the drugs, you fill pages with love letters, you fill notebooks with goodbye messages.
You feel as if you are falling apart, or finally coming together, you can't tell.

When the party's over
This was supposed to be fun, you take the drugs, you go up then down, that's how it's supposed to go.
What do you do when you never come down?
What are you to do when everyone leaves the party, when you cleansed your home of all its reminisce, and you haven't come down yet?
When months pass and your eyes are still lying to you, what is there left?
It lingers in such strange ways. I know it's not real, I know you don't see what I see, but that doesn't change what my eyes are telling me.
The world feels like it's made of plastic, I hope you like a manufactured life, I hope you grow to love living life on a plastic beach.
I hope you like being high because I don't know when you'll come down.