Wicked Games

My eyes

I can't help myself, but to explain more about the people I love. I feel an obligation to explain to you, they weren't always this bad. They use to be full of light and smiles. They would walk in a room and cause a laugh. As time grew older, the parts of them everyone loved disappeared. They were there one day and gone the next. It is so hard to explain what it is like growing up around all addicts. Watching the life slowly be sucked out of their eyes. Hearing of overdoses where significant others refused to call the cops, all in fear of their own habits. How they all lied and covered for eachother. God was it hard. It was so hard watching the ones you loved MOST in the world, slowly kill themselves. Oh what a wicked game getting high is. You feel so free in the moment but then so captivated and stuck the moment you descend. Oh how you forget how to be sober, as my mother said. I remember those days where my mom would cry to me and apologize, just to turn around and go to the bathroom... where she would snort another line of heroin and come out for the next shot. Or maybe not the shot of booze. Depends the day. I remember all the screaming and the yelling. All the nights she had woken my sister and I in a parinoid state of being watched or stalked. Oh how we had to fear the dealers she fucked over. Man time caught up with her too. At 37 years old, you woils of guessed her to be 58. Heroin wasnt a good choice of fashion if I say so myself. Maybe if she would have tried sticking to compulsive shopping or even shop lifting.... shed be around and be able to fight those nasty demons. It wasn't her fault though. Never was it. At least not in her eyes. Oh how mad and sad I am she can't be here to hold me when I cry, or become heart broken. When I get married I don't have a mother nor a father to help me or be there. Fuck it. It's what I like to tell myself. Or it be like that. Both true but hard to follow. I just wanted to be normal but I will NEVER get that luxury. For my past haunts me and my thoughts are always there. Insecurity arises in me at times where it isn't needed and fear penetrates almost every hard choice I make. But hey my survive instincts kick in and put me on survive and I live in a state of comfortably numb if it is too much. I am really not sure how to explain how fucked up I feel after all that has happened. I will survive and carry on. And you would never guess it if you met me.