"You know when you wake up and you have to pee really bad, but your alarm goes off in an hour, so you try to hold it in? But, doing that just keeps you up thinking about it constantly, so you don't get that hour of sleep anyway? That's a horrible example but imagine doing that for 6 and a half years, well not every night for 6 years but like holding it in for the whole 6 years - never mind. forget I wrote that."
I woke up, "yay". I could hear the thunder and rain outside pattering against my window as the wind blew it my direction. The time on my clock read 2:30 am. This was probably one of the only times I was ever happy to be up. It was quiet and the streets stood still it was almost like you were the only person on earth and for a bit, nothing else mattered.
Slowly, I slid out of my bed and dug through the pile of clothes that was strung all over my room to find the blue hoodie that had the pack of cigarettes in it. So, it became a new habit fast than I expected, sue me. I also make a mental note to do some damn laundry.
"Fuck, where's the lighter" I whispered to myself as I continued throwing my shit all over my room. It was hard to dig through all my stuff quietly, so I didn't wake anyone up. After giving up on looking for the lighter I slowly opened my door and tip toed to the kitchen. With no other logical options available to me, I lit my cigarette with the stove and walked quickly towards the front door to sit outside on the porch.
It was a little cold with the rain, so with every drag I took you could hear the sizzle of the paper that surrounded the tobacco. I took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. It was humid, I loved springtime thunderstorms they brought out the best smells in everything, and the air got so humid and thick. The next breath I took was a deep drag that I held in until it made my head swirl. I closed my eyes and smiled; I wish someone would have told me how nice cigarettes were when I was first getting clean. This could have saved us a lot of time, and maybe even one relapse.
I looked towards the dark street, the only source of light came from the shitty streetlamp that emitted an orange-colored glow and every 5 minutes would flicker. Everything out here was so still, and clear, When the streetlight was off, the lightning lit up the sky and illuminated the street. Something about being outside at night by yourself makes you really think, I feel like these streets know me so well, things like the neighbor's grass, where I've thrown up a few times, the sidewalks where I'd stumble or trip on my way back inside.
Most of all, my own front yard. The yard that saw me growing up, from running through the sprinklers with friends, playing tag with the family, learning to catch with Tyson, and learning to wrestle with William. From that to sitting on the stairs talking and hanging out, then onto other things like the first time I got drunk, or the first time I snorted a pill on the side of the house. This house, this yard, they all saw me change, and grow up and become this version of me I don't think I expected.
How long had it been since I had been outside? I noticed the grass was green again, and the trees had filled in with their leaves, flowers growing in people's yards. The world really does keep going even when you aren't in it, or at least not mentally.
The days have been getting harder, presenting me with thoughts I've never had before, things are getting serious and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing at this point. They say it takes loss to know love; it's in the shattered pieces of our hearts that we learn to appreciate the beauty of what once made it whole. However, what does it mean for us if we're born with our hearts already shattered? I don't know loss, so how am I supposed to know any type of love? I don't know love, not towards life, people, or even things. If I knew love, I wouldn't think about ending it, ending myself knowing the effect that will have on the people around me, the people I'm supposed to love. I look down at the puddle of water by my foot and take another drag.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Thats Life
सामान्य साहित्यJace is a drug addicted, suicidal, depressed young adult. His whole life has been nothing but abuse, hatred, and loneliness. After an attempt at ending his life, he's faced with a long challenge over overcoming the addiction, and recreating himself...
