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It's been a rough for me. The medicine they inject me with suppose to help me kick my dependence for the drugs, but it just makes it worse than when I do endulge.
I suffer trying to sleep, shaking with chills rattling down to my bones, my body in a fit of sweats, and I'm haunted by the demons and bad memories I tried to forget that were once a blur was crystal clear before my eyes.
The past emotions I bottled up has now erupted consuming me in a black hole of pain and sadness. I can hear Blake screaming my name over and over in fits of rage,"Amy, Amy, Ammmy!!" A blood curling feeling, a fear like no other.
I would have like the same nightmare of being strung out and drunk performing in front of thousands and I'm being booed off stage. I couldn't remember my lyrics, my songs, slurring what words I did sing, I could barely stand wobbling, looking down at the audiences angry faces booing me calling a junkie, rubbish, and washed up.
I eventually went to back to sleep but this time the dream was different, I can't tell what happen, but In the middle of the night I vomited cause of it. If it wasn't for the nurse checking up in I would've released whatever fluid I had left and would've died right there.
They stabilized me, then My doctor fairly nice man, His name is Dr. Drew, consoled my early in the morning. He said I had my first 'episode' which is common the first days going cold turkey. He wants me to utilize my time all while keeping up with my therapies. He suggested me to keep a journal or have a friend while I'm here so I can release inner emotions and thoughts, however,I don't talk on my life.
It's my life!
I'm fully aware of what I do and the choices I fucking made. It's not like they're going to magically vanish when I speak about them honestly, so that's where alot of my music comes from. Those inner feelings, experiences, and pain I have, Music is my long exhale of relief.
Anyways, if I am going be here for a while I miles well get comfy and make the best out of it.
I showed then changed my clothes from my sweatpants and white-T, to pair of dark blue shorts and loose-fitted black tank top remaining barefoot. I walked past a mirror and I back tracked.
I looked at myself, I'm thinner than I ever was in my life, my face is sunk in, bags have formed beneath my eyes, my legs and arms are so skinny you can see bone through me skin. The person in the mirror looks like death walking, not me. I couldn't look at myself so I sat on the couch with my left leg bent on the couch. A little while later, smoking my second cigarette to minimize my nerves writing the first thing that came to mind in a composition notebook when there was a knock on the door.
