The Suicide Equation

Chapter Eight - The Drugs and Alcohol

I longed for that feeling to not feel at all. I wished to feel numb every second of every day. I developed terrible habits.

I'd sit alone in my bedroom in the middle of the night and smoked all the cigarettes I collected for the day. I huffed every bottle of nail polish I had. I stole a bottle of vodka from my mother and drank it. It made me feel sick but it made me feel numb.

With every puff, inhale, and swig, I felt more
and more numb. Every little thing made me feel a little better. The more numb, the better. If I couldn't feel my own face then I knew I was doing something right.

It's all worth it. The incredible pain I feel hours later is worth the few hours of not feeling a thing. No one worried about me, no one checked in on me, no one texted me. I was dead to the world and that's how I wanted to be. I poisoned myself and was slowly killing myself.

Everyday things would get worse. I'd collect one more cigarette. I'd start to steal a carton. I'd take a few more bottles of booze. I'd steal swigs of the hard liquor. I even cut while doing all of it.

Every night I'd lie down, bleeding, hammered, and numb. I'd fall asleep and be at peace until the morning where I felt like death. This was my life now. This is how I dealt with everything.

I had a different boyfriend every couple of weeks.

I got with one guy who has some weed on him. He made me smoke it. I was hooked on the stuff after that one time. He made me rely on it. Of course I coding afford t myself, so I befriended the stoners and smoked with them daily.

I would get with a guy, get high, have sex, and then get dumped. I'd feel crushed, get stoned and drunk as hell, and cut my self till I felt like I've had enough torment for one day.

This cycled repeated for a year. A new boyfriend every two weeks. Even a few girlfriends. They all got me high, fucked me, and left me.

The sex made me feel loved and the drugs made me feel good. It was better than hurting, right?

Well I was wrong.

I slept around with a new guy every week. I got ahold of drugs every day. I made myself happy in the worst ways. My life was full of toxic people pumping their toxicity in my veins and turning me into who I became. The druggie and the whore.

I went around and slept with everyone just to get high. I even cheated on boyfriend to get high. I know, I'm a terrible person, but I needed it.

They say weed isn't addictive but I'm saying now, it treats everyone differently. I was hooked on it. They also say that it's not a gateway drug, well they were wrong too.

One day, I went to my dealer. I told him I needed something more. The weed wasn't cutting it. I needed the weeded but I needed more too. He told me he could give me some cocaine. I asked for the price and there was no way In hell I could afford that. I asked if there was anything else I could do.

I fucked him. Every time I needed a bump I went to him and got him off. It's the only thing I was good at anyways, and it's what I was meant to do. I got him off, got my drugs, went home, hid in my closet, and let my worries go away with each line.

It fucked me up, it really did. I needed it badly. I did anything I could for it. If he wanted me to fuck seven guys at once I would've. I needed the Coke. On top of all my vices, I was in very rough shape.

I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day from my best friends mother. I was smoking a gram of weed and did a few lines of Coke. I drank a bottle of vodka. All of this was just a daily routine. How I didn't die is beyond me.

That's all I wanted though. I wanted to die. I really did. I tried to kill myself.

I tried to OD on my vices but it didn't work. I tried to take a bottle of pills but my mom caught me. Three attempts and not a single one got me anywhere.

I was a fuck up. That's all I was. I went back and forth between different people to get high and get fucked. I needed it all.

Sex is love. A high is freedom. Getting drunk is the way to be happy. Cutting myself just added to it al.

I was the perfect storm, and I was only sixteen. Everything got worse and worse with high school.

The bullying, the abuse, all of it.

Every boyfriend I had used me in someone way. They abused me too. One even chased me with both a knife and a shovel and tried to kill me. Fucking psychotic asshole.

All of this happened in just three years but I lived. I poisoned myself daily and I took shots at my own life, but here I am. Sixteen, alive, and addicted to more things than anyone I knew.

It got to the point where the pain was unbearable. I was so close to going to my dealer, screwing him, getting hard drugs like Meth and Heroine, and making my problems go away. The only reason I got better is because there was a new night in my darkness. There was a spark that ignited my light.

He texted me.