I swear, CSI, NCSI, or Forensic Files is constantly playing in my recovery house. Like a nonstop 24/7 marathon. That’s literally all we watch. Just…..yeah.
i didn’t know you in my last life and i probably wont know you in the next;
im sitting here a sniffling mess,
nose running eyes running soul running
of my body in a slow stream white steam buttercream dream
spread it on so thick, baby, tell me everything i want to hear—
your voice is like slow fire crackling stream of smoke that chases me across the firepit, ill never get away from the way it feels inside my bones and holds me in the cold. i never make sense anymore. what’s an addict without drugs? lost.
I get way too sensitive when I get attached to someone. I can detect the slightest change in the tone of their voice, and suddenly I’m spending all day trying to figure out what I did wrong.
Black h0le inf0m@tion paradox ; take 2
All the information is still there//how could it ever be lost?
I’m starting to feel better; life is creeping up around the edges….
and damn, it feels good to be alive and breathing.
2 girls relapsed in my house; feelings ran high all day (no pun intended).
I’m smoking a menthol in the early morning shades of a blue sunrise, beach town predawn,
drinking coffee with cream,
and I am overcome with it.
With how much I lovelovelove this place.
Maybe I am riding on that pink cloud but I feel like everything is synchronized with the heartbeat of the universe, like I’m here at this exact moment because this,
This is my timespace,
wind on my face
hands on your hips;
My life has so much substance now (said the junkie).
30 days ain’t shit to a lot of people, but after ten plus years of using, 30 days feels so fresh, that slap in the face awake, that why-do-i-do-the-things-i-do clarity that this little benzo junkie melted-brain fuckedupheadspace princess needs.
Here’s to another 30 days, here’s to the information that warps but never gets lost in my black hole of a brain. I can do this. Right? Right.