Sincerely October

Faith - Funeral

F for dictionary poetry.

Faith
I keep myself together for another day because maybe this will be the day I start to feel better again.
Maybe today things will start to make sense, maybe things will get easier and stop aching so much.
Sometimes it's hard to see anything outside the storm. It's hard to imagine a life in which it's not raining, but I suspect it is out there, somewhere down the line.
I have hope that I have a lovely summer ahead of me, it feels impossible but it's not.
I hope that one day the past will feel so far away that I almost forget about it. I forget about what things are like right now, the bruises can heal without scarring over.

Fatal
I don't want to die drunk.
I can't let this be the thing that defines me, I can be so much more than this. If I start again there's no telling where I'll find myself, so I may miss it, but I don't want to die with my only redeeming trait being that I could have been better, I want to die with more than potential.
I can tell myself anything, anything at all, but I have a deep understanding that the drugs will kill me if I let them.
Addiction is not known for its mercy, it is not known for letting you have another chance, addicts die, and many of us die before we really get to live.

Fatigue
I am exhausted.
I wake up tired, I wake up ready to go to bed again.
Everything requires an often intolerable amount of effort, even things that used to fill me feel like a chore.
I am constantly waiting until I am done with the task at hand, how many more minutes until it's over?
I used to love this, why isn't it working anymore? Why isn't anything working anymore?
I'm tired, I always come back to these same thoughts, this same sensation of being lost in an endless gray, even if it leaves it always returns.
I grow teary because I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting, waiting for things to make sense.

February
It was around this time in which things started falling apart in a way I couldn't hide anymore.
I couldn't lie my way out of this one, even if I wanted to, even if I tried to, there was no hiding anymore.
I could tell him what I did wrong or I could wait for you to come to me, so I sat down and told you everything.
I told you what I believed to be true, I was delusional, but for once I was telling you what I believed to be the truth. I told you about how the drugs were the only things that made me happy as I watched the ground crumble beneath me because of them.
The rambles didn't make sense, I stopped making sense weeks ago, but I was honest, and that's what really mattered.
Over the rest of the month I would slowly begin to pick up the pieces. I slowly put distance between me and the drugs, soon I realized that I didn't want to live this way, and soon I'd start living differently.

Felicity
It is true that I am growing tired and worn, things have become so gray, but I will find the happiness I am looking for.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it is out there, somewhere, and someday, maybe someday soon, I will be glad I pulled myself out of the fog.
I will be glad I made it through the rough times without going back to the drugs, I'll be glad I kept on writing and kept on trying to find the answers because one day I will find them.
I have been through periods of darkness before, it seems they are just one of the many facets of life, and each time I have made it through to the other side, every time I swore I had reached a point of no return I realized I hadn't, there is no such thing.
Better days are ahead of me, they are within arms reach, I will feel the sun warming my skin soon.

Fellow
For a long time I knew you understood me in a way most others wouldn't.
I knew that if everyone saw me for what I was, getting drunk and high in the bathroom, they would judge me. My addiction changed me, not only did I do things I promised myself I would never do, but there are some things that will never be normal again, and you understand that.
You know what this is like, you know that I am not doing this because I want to, not anymore.
When I tell you I hate it and I can't stop, when I tell you I went back to it again, you understand.
We both could have died, we both went through the pains of withdrawal, you know this inside and out.
Even if my experiences are vastly different from yours, we both know the sickening nature of killing yourself slowly, of seeing the tale you told yourself you'd never play out in your own life, we both have the same stories written behind our eyelids.