City of Stars

Substance abuse trauma

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Substance Trauma

October 3, 2501,

     One more glass. That's what we all say. Just one more pill, one more bottle, one more shot. We are blinded by our own guilt and self loathing to see we aren't helping anything. You could always have one more. But when does one more become just that one more? When does the life you once had become a blur in the field of your own misery? When does it end?

     Some drink or pop pills to forget, others do it because they can. No one understands how much they're impacted before it's too late. One may think one more glass of whisky can drown out the hatred or one more smoke of weed will make everything go away. Nothing will ever change. No matter how high you are, you will never feel better.

     If you try you won't get far. That's what people think when they start. They think that if they can smoke it out or drown it in the deepest parts of them it will all go away.

     It won't.

     Hello, are you there? That's a question I ask a lot. My name is Marco, Marco Surdose. I wish I could tell you I didn't go down such a horrible spiral after everyone left but I'd be lying... I don't lie, especially when I'm drunk. I still remember the first time I was high. I remember the feeling of freedom and like all the problems faded. I remember it all.

     I remember the first time I was drunk. I remember how I humiliated myself on every status. I threw up in the backroom of the bar on my shoe. It wasn't my best moment.

     I guess I should explain how I found these misfits. I should start at the beginning. I wish I could go all the way back but if I started at the true beginning I would have started with the day I met Dan and Nolan. I guess I could start there. Well then here goes nothing.

     A while ago...

December 25,2499,

     I sluggishly walked across the street from the bar. I noticed three men in all black walking in a back alley. I turned back and shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket. I stumbled but caught myself on the wall of a building. I felt a horrible churn in my stomach. I doubled over and emptied my stomach onto the sidewalk. "Ugh, fuck," I groaned and staggered over to a phone booth.

     I sighed and grabbed the phone and hunched over. I dialed a number I knew by heart by now. I listened to the ring. Silence. "Hello?" came the voice on the other end of the phone. It was a soft warm voice that made my heart feel safe. "Hi" I slurred a bit. "You're drunk again aren't you?" the feminine voice asked softly. I leaned my forehead on the wall as I held the phone to my ear. "Yes." I slurred.

     I ran a hand through my pastel purple slicked back hair. My indigo skin was paler than usual indicating I'm drunk. Great. I just love being the one guy with a drinking problem. Fun.

     I looked at myself in the glass. I looked like the dead with my bloodshot eyes and pale indigo skin. "You're staying here," the voice spoke sternly. "Sure" I hiccuped and leaned on the wall once again. "I'll be there in... Five," I said slowly as I hung up and let the old phone drop against the stone wall. I turned and staggered across the sidewalk. Come on Marco, be a man and get your lousy self to Emm's house. I managed to get to the back alley and to Emm's old wooden door. I knocked once, then twice. I looked at the ground. My vision clouded and I held out a hand to catch me on the wall. A half second later the door opened and a hand yanked me into the apartment. "You idiot," the soft voice belonging to Emm said as she shoved me through the room and to the couch. "thanks...Emm," my eyes closed slightly. She threw a blanket over me.