//Apartment 102//

//mr. serotonin man, lend me a gram, you call yourself a friend?//

I should be sleeping. It's past five in the morning, but instead I'm listening to way too loud music, writing, feeling reminiscent over situations that I have never actually been in, wishing for things I don't need, needing things I don't want, and feeling some type of way. I want this boy I shouldn't. I want things I can't realistically have. I want things that I don't even know I want. I want... I want a fucking cigarette.

My wants and needs and emotions are so absolutely fucked.

The world is shit. Why is everyone so damn narcissistic? How did we all become this way? I have far too much energy and I don't know what to do with it. I want to direct it towards something positive, but I don't know what. I feel like this world is going to eat me alive, shamelessly, and spit me back out, disgusted.

I feel like I fit in nowhere, but then sometimes, I feel like I am exactly where I need to be. I am not so sure what's going on, really.

How do you measure self worth? Is it the amount of things you own? Is it through amount of friends you have, or the people you choose to have around you? Is it the amount of good days over bad ones that you have? It's surely got to be more internal and intellectual than just material belongings and the outside forces in one's life. How do you obtain self worth then?  If it's purely a personal and internal happening... then how do I achieve it?

I'm sure the answer already lies inside of me, but how exactly do I get it out? How do I become aware of the tools I need to obtain such a naturally selfish happening? Maybe I never will be able to.

Fuck that must have been some really good weed.

Well, now I have consumed entirely too much coffee, cleaned my whole apartment, listened to a whole album - twice - and there is officially zero hope of me going to sleep at all tonight... or... this morning, I guess.

I'm moderately alright with this.

Instead, I spend the early morning hours doing what I usually do when insomnia has its grip on me - I think too much.

My mind wanders to what my life used to be. When I would do anything, absolutely anything, for just one more. One more hit of the devil, just one more shot of that liquid love into my veins. One more day to not feel the hatred and shame that pulsed through my body. One more minute, fuck even one more second of clouded judgement and synthetic confidence. Anything to numb all the anger and rage I felt constantly.

Sometimes I wonder why I ever did that to myself. Other times, I know exactly why.

When I got high, with each hit I would close my eyes and imagine my soul leaving my body. I'd picture everything I define as 'me' leaving behind the shell of a body it had once inhabited and soaring away to be free from the hell it had been trapped in for so long.

Sure, call me suicidal. I would call that hopeful... or maybe desperate. For so long death seemed better and so much easier than the existence I had been leading up to that point.

I'd often think of one last hit, one last feeling of that numbness I so often craved, followed by darkness, quiet, and no feelings at all. But no matter how hard I tried, my tolerance would climb to unspeakable levels, and with always the same outcome. I would come to, with the same burning desire and frequent thought 'fuck I wish I had more money.'

I used to wish horrible things on the people that surrounded me. Blaming my family, for being shit, or my boyfriend at the time, who got me hooked, or the dealer for giving me garbage drugs. But then I started to direct it at myself. 'Nova, you piece of shit, this world would be better without you. Nobody can save you. You can't even save yourself.'

Where did all this come from? Had I always hated myself, or did drug abuse bring this on? As days turned into years, and I watched myself as I sunk deeper and deeper into this self loathing depression, the chances of swimming back up to the surface seemed close to nonexistent and my will to see tomorrow would diminish more and more. 'You are nothing,' I would tell myself. 'That liquid in your needle loves you more than anyone or thing ever will.'

I told myself that nobody cared, so that I wouldn't be bothered when I stole from them and lied to their faces. Giving me all these feelings of hopelessness and anger so I would long even more to feel that rushing numbness, followed by nothing at all.

I became so lost that I started to mistake the numbness for happiness. I thought that had been what was missing, and as long as I kept getting the next one I would always be okay.

Just one more hit. Always just one more.

Eventually that one more took too much to get, and I started stealing, lying, and doing things I swore I would never do, all for that feeling of mistaken love.

If I said I loved myself, I'd be lying, but I've come so far from the person I used to be. That horrid girl that didn't care if she had to sleep on a park bench that night, as long as she could get high while she did it.

Now I have an apartment. My own four walls to do whatever I want with. I have a job, a completely legal job that involves no stealing or scheming. Shit, I'm on fucking payroll. I've got friends... actual, call-just-to-say-hi friends. I barely even know Matty and George, and already they're better acquaintances than anyone I've let into my life in a long time.

Matthew Healy. My messy haired neighbor, with the soft voice, and the crooked teeth. I'm not used to the way he makes me feel. I'm not used to the calmness I feel when I'm around him, or the uneasy feeling in my stomach when he smiles at me.

There is no way in hell that he would ever feel the same way about me.

A soft knocking sound coming from my front door pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up at the clock. It's nearly six in the morning now. What the hell?

I walk over and open my door to reveal the very same messy haired boy whose apartment I had left a mere few hours ago, and that was just dancing around my thoughts.

"Hey, uhh... " Matty blushes and looks down at his feet. "Sorry, I guess I didn't properly think this through. I hope I haven't just woken you up. I just heard your music, and well... I couldn't sleep. Figured you might want some company?" He rambles, looking back up at me slowly once he's finished speaking.

"I've been up all night, you're fine." I give him a reassuring smile. "Did you want to come in?"

Matty nervously smiles back at me, "If you're sure it's no trouble. I can just go back over to mine if it's too-"

I interupt him by grabbing my arm and pulling him through my door. "It's fine, really. I'll start a pot of coffee for us."

//

Shit two chapters in one night
Look at me gooo

Hello, yes, I like comments and likes

Good times, my friends