Every day actually is the same when you take the time to think about it, the sun rises and sets at the same time that it did the day before, wind still blowing across the branches of trees and through individual blades of grass, the air always touching the unchanging world in the same places each day. Somehow, in this world of chaos and agony, nothing ever seems to actually change. Sure, there's slight to moderate deviations in weather, but nothing completely reinvents itself, we're all still as messed up and ruined as we were the day before and as we will be the day after. I've always been told that people can change, and yet somewhere inside myself, I know that such a statement could never be true, because in reality, no one ever changes, and we all resort to old habits at one point or another. I'm not sure if it's for comfort, or if we really can't deviate from old routines and conversations, and maybe it's that we all want to go back in time, to relive a memory as if it were reoccurring over and over again, when in all actuality we're recreating the situation for ourselves because its something to grasp onto. Have you ever found yourself falling and reached out to grab onto something, anything that could keep your body from hitting the cold hard ground, only to find that there is nothing around, nothing that can save you? I think our memories work that way, when our lives start falling apart or we're in a situation unfamiliar to us, we recreate one that we're comfortable in, one that brings us comfort now or at least did at some point in time.
We all have a variety of preferences and routines, and yet somehow, some way, it seems as if it is impossible to break away from any of it. Despite our efforts, all our attempts to change ourselves into something greater, we remain the same. Smoking, drinking, drugs, all the things that we've been told are bad, that cause us to destroy our own lives, and for what? A few moments within a lifetime where we can just be, we can feel and breathe like we're actually here, like the world itself and everything in it actually exists. For a little while, you feel alive, and it's such a rush because you finally realize that you've never felt anything like it, and everything in your life up to this point has been nothing but a lie. You've been dead your entire life, and yet suddenly, you've never felt more alive, you've never felt so real. Everything fades out and for the first time, nothing in the universe matters, all that exists is this feeling of being alive, so much that you can hear your heart pounding with excitement, sweat trickling off your forehead in spells of heavy heat that seems to bring you down, but it's so comfortable because it reminds you of home, of the small feeling that always consumed you as a child.
You feel the drugs traveling through your bloodstream, but it's the sweetest relief you've ever had and you'll do whatever it takes to feel that way again, no matter what the consequences, you need that reality instead of the one that we all live in. In the midst of these moments, you become more self aware than you've ever been, every sound, every smell, every texture and sight, anything that your senses can detect, all of it is completely clear. The world is spinning, yet you're still staring off into the distance, standing still, watching every aspect of the activity that occurs around you, taking in every detail as if you'll never see the world again, and maybe you won't. The doctors and professionals always claim that such a feeling is merely an effect of the drugs, and maybe it is, but what if it's not? What if everything up to this point is a lie? What if everyone you've ever known isn't who you thought they were? What if no one is alive and in reality, this is what hell looks like? What if drugs, cigarettes, and alcohol are the only way to see things as they really are? What if the reason we crave self destruction so desperately is completely due to the fact that we need the truth that's been there all along?
I lay in bed, my eyes staring straight forward, burning into the ceiling, letting my mind drift off into anything and everything. Somehow, I didn't care whether or not I kept my sanity, and maybe there was some part of me that actually hoped I would lose that too, after all, I had lost everything else I loved anyway. My body ached like it always seemed to anymore, and yet it felt so far away, I felt like I was drowning, everything was muted and colorless, fading back into black and white silent cinema scenes, but the actors still speak out loud, they contradict all that they are, and I suppose that's how I felt as well. I was the one and only contradiction to each and every aspect of life itself, and though I wasn't sure how I'd gotten myself into such a disaster, I knew that I was never going to make it out alive, not this time around. Everything that seemed so hilarious hours ago, felt painful again, more so than it had before, and yet at the same time, it felt like nothing at all. There were times when I felt so completely dead that not even physical contact made a difference, even that part of me was numb, and I couldn't feel a hand on my skin, a gentle squeeze, nothing at all. I suppose it wasn't always a bad thing, because there were some times when it was to my advantage that I couldn't feel anything, like when someone shoved me into the lockers or kicked me down, it didn't hurt for the pure fact that I was too dead, too far gone, apathetic even.
It seemed as if the ceiling was moving in slow circles, almost like the virtual stars in a specially made theater, rotating in a steady rhythm, showing every constellation in clear view, making every detail of the night sky completely visible for the first time. I dragged myself into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me before pulling out a towel from the cabinet next to the sink, placing it next to the bathtub. Slowly, I reached over to turn the water on, twisting the knobs easily, placing my hand under the steady stream that poured from the faucet, testing the temperature. I placed a small piece of rubber into the drain, letting the water accumulate in creme colored tub, pouring lavender and vanilla soap into the water under the faucet, watching as sweet scented bubbles appeared quickly, spreading across the entire surface of the water, almost like a second skin. As the mirror was fogged with steam, I found myself looking over towards it, staring into the glass at my distorted reflection, and somehow I wondered if I was the only one who hated what I saw in the mirror, who wanted to shove my fist through the reflective surface, as if it would somehow make me pretty.
I shed my clothing, finding that I felt so raw, so exposed despite the fact that I was alone and the door had been locked behind me, somehow it still felt as if everyone's eyes were on me, like they could see me even with the walls surrounding me, staring straight thought the beams and structures that held each panel into place. After the tub was filled, I twisted the knobs again, the steady stream of water stopping slowly, the faucet still dropping in a steady rhythm. With a deep breath, I stepped into the water, wincing at the strange warmth, not used to the lack of feeling cold. I allowed myself a moment or two to adjust to the temperature of the water before laying down and letting the liquid consume my body completely, the sweet scent of vanilla and lavender invading my nostrils, causing my eyes to water at the intensity of the smell, yet calming my mind. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, as if trying to bring the calming effect of the warmth and scent into my subconscious, breathing it into my mind, wanting nothing more than to get lost in this moment of relaxation, but somehow I knew that feelings such as this never seem to last long enough. My head ached, whether it was from all the damage I'd done to my own body within the past few days or from the overwhelming smell of vanilla and lavender that was currently soaking into the pores of my skin, I wasn't quite sure. Heavy spasms of pressure that radiated from the back of my head across my entire scalp caused me to flinch slightly, hoping that the sharp pains would soon fade, still breathing in the steam as it rose from the surface of the water. I watched the steam, noting how much it reminded me of the smoke that streamed from the end of a lit cigarette, the color and shape of each wave of the gas dependent on the air around it, how warm or cold it was, and whether or not there was a breeze to guide it along. My mouth watered, longing for the sweet yet bitter taste of the cigarettes I had smoked earlier, needing the relief that the nicotine seemingly brought, my whole body relaxing as the chemical traveled through my blood stream, causing my limbs to tingle with a feeling that I couldn't quite put into words.
Somehow, I felt as if I was free, submerged in the water, my body felt so light, almost like floating on a cloud, it seemed as if my movement were slower underwater, yet they seemed more controlled, more deliberate. There's something soothing about being in water, your movements are weighted, slowly and steady, like the liquid is a heavy force that stops time, giving you a moment to consider your actions before you completely carry them through, almost like a conscious that exists outside of your own mind. My mind began to drift once again, and I realized that I wanted to drown in the liquid, I wanted it to consume my entire body with it's density, to breathe the water into my lungs in hopes that it would make me feel alive despite the fact that I knew I wasn't. At the same time, however, I wanted to live, I wanted to breathe, to smell christmas cookies through the entire house like I did every December, and I wanted to have the same sweet experience with every Christmas that was to come. I was a human contradiction of everything that existed, and I knew that all too well, and no matter how much I wanted to live normally, I knew that they would never allow me to do such a thing. My chest ached with emptiness, yearning for something more than this, to break free of the chains that were shackled around my wrists and ankles, that weighed me down each and every time I attempted to stand on my own. I had completely lost all control of my life, and I desperately wanted it back.
I lifted my body from the water, wrapping a towel around myself as I walked out the door and into my room, finally realizing how convienient having a bathroom attached to my bedroom actually was. I kneeled down to the floor, droplets of water falling in a steady pace from each strand of my hair as I pulled the floorboard up, quickly snatching the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from underneath, adreniline pumping through my veins, giving me such a rush because I knew that what I was doing could quite possibly be the cause of my death if my mother ever found out about it.
