The Worst Addiction

An Answer Of Sorts

     Drinking helped everything. It helped numb the pain, and the love that I confused as the same thing lately. Rum, and cigarettes, and music playing loudly. I guess this was one way to get over someone and hate yourself at the same time. 

     I don't know why I even tried winning her back. I should've expected her to refuse my begging, and the closed door on my face once I started crying. I should've expected the silence when I poured my heart out to her. How couldn't I see that my mindless rambling did more harm than good, and that it scared her more than it should.

    I think the rum complimented the taste of the smoke, and for once in a long time a laugh came out of my lips as I sang along to the radio loudly and off tune. It was a good thing I didn't have a room mate to worry, or one that would nag me and take away the things that finally gave me back my smile.

     Drinking was an answer, and maybe it wasn't the right answer but I didn't care. That's how everything seemed like lately. Everything seemed like there was no point to care. It seemed to me like the things the world said were bad for you weren't, and what was right weren't.

     Love is sold to millions of people as the best thing that could ever happen to you. So many teenagers waste their nights crying over being lonely without a love, and an endless sea of people shed tears over love. But even with all those raw ugly feelings it's still sold as the best thing on earth even coming with it's own holiday. Drinking, and smoking, and tattoo's were things that you'd do when you've lost your way. They're things parents would do nothing more than look down upon, and doing these things would write you off as an awful person.

     Which admittedly I was.

     But my point was that love was shit, and the rest was the shit. It was the way to smile when you didn't want to, and I was glad I found the answers. Even if it wasn't the right answer.