Addict {h.s}

one

   I laid across my torn, battered old couch, which I had now out-grown as my feet hung carelessly over the edge of it. I swirled the remainder of the beer left in the glass bottle as I stared blankly at the tv that was surrounded in beer bottles, similar to the one I had in my hand. I inspected the bottle, holding it up to the light to see just how much beer I had left, and to see if I could down it in one. I pressed the beer bottle to my lips and tipped it back one last time, allowing it to linger in my mouth for a few moments before finally swallowing it all. I crashed the bottle onto the crowded coffee - or perhaps beer - table in front of me before swinging my legs off the sofa and hauling myself up. The coffee table, and most other surfaces in the house, were white, dusty and covered in cocaine residue. I tried this technique a few times but soon gave up as it would give me 30 minutes of joy, then followed by hours of sadness. Needles were dotted around the flat, normally hidden away in broken drawers or cabinets.

   I reached for the TV remote, wincing slightly in pain as I did so from the bruising and stiffness my earlier actions had caused me. I managed to turn my tv off and I staggered my way through the trail of cigarette butts and empty cans or bottles that were spread across my barely visible carpet and out onto my balcony that overlooked the city.

  I leant over the railings, using my elbows for support as I scanned over the now sleeping city of New York. I sighed as I looked down on the last few people wandering the city, most of which looking successful and important with their earpieces in as they mumbled away into thin air, and their briefcases that were practically overflowing with paper that probably contained life changing ideas and concepts. Although, most of the time those typical successful people looked rather stressed and unhappy. That's often how I imagined my life to be after my 'rockstar' career had inevitably run itself into the ground. However, that's not how my career ended, nor is my life how I imagined it to be afterwards. In fact, it's quite the opposite.

   I sighed once more, deciding not to torture myself much longer by dwelling on the 'what if's'. After making my way inside, I grabbed my already lit-up phone from the counter, turned all the lights off and hurried my way into my lonely, empty bedroom. In fact, empty is the incorrect word to use to describe my room - the complete opposite in fact. My room was covered in dirty clothes that had been thrown on the floor and had remained there for a number of weeks, accompanied with yet more empty alcohol cans, and one singular ash tray that was full of old cigarettes and ash. The room was dark yet visually it was quite bright, as the walls were covered in paintings that had been purchased way back when, and wallpaper that was slowly trying to escape from the damp walls it had been stuck to all those years ago, as if they had made a pact with gravity to reach the ground as quickly as possible. I threw my top off, leaving only my sweatpants on as I climbed underneath my covers.

   Night time was always a dangerous time for me. I would either scroll endlessly through my phone, typing out messages my heart wants me to send to those who I haven't reached out to in years, but my head is telling me not to out of fear of rejection. Or perhaps I will find myself reading old articles written about me 5 years ago, saying that my performance is one of the best they had seen, but then watching them slowly turn into hate and critique articles as my career grew older and went downhill. Or I just lay there in silence, which is probably the most dangerous of them all. I would simply stare at the ceiling and think. I would think about how my life used to be, and how much I longed to simply rewind time back to a few years ago. My mind would race with scenarios that I could make happen, even now, but I simply don't have the energy anymore. That, of course, is from no fault but my own. I will often be alone with my thoughts at night, allowing me to wallow in self-loathe and scenarios, criticising myself for turning my life into the current state that it is. I would get little sleep at night, therefore I would make up for what I had missed during the day time.