Withdrawals kick in shortly after being home. I'm running to the bathroom every 10 minutes to either shit or vomit. I have stomach pains that make me feel like I'm dying. I have chills that I can't shake, and more than anything I crave the dragon.
I head to the bathroom to try and wash all the memories away, but it doesn't work. I just stand there and let the water run. I sit down, and begin to cry.
I finally bring myself to climb out of the shower, I put on my dads sweater and get into bed. I forgot how nice it was to lay in a bed. I've been sleeping on the ground, cots, even bench's.
I somehow fall asleep through all the pain, dreaming of the dragon.
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I wake up forgetting where I'm at. I rummage through the drawers, cabinets and bedding in my room, searching for something. I needed something to fight the craving.
After failing to find anything, I go downstairs looking through the bathroom cupboards. Again nothing, not even fucking Tylenol. Ugh! I can't fucking handle this.
Days go by and I'm still fighting. I've raged out and hit my mother. I have broken shit in my room trying to find a way out. I even threatened to kill myself to try to live this hellhole. But nothing worked. Nothing.
I'm finally at the end of the withdrawals, the desire for heroin is still there but it's not a pure craving.
I become trapped in a state of depression. Feeling lost, feeling sad, feeling remorseful for once in my life, and somehow feeling free. More free than when I was flying with the dragon.
Hopefully I can do it this time.
This shit just isn't worth it.
