Love is a Drug

1. The utterly honest life of Alice Atwell

The darkness of the night, the feel of freshly cleaned bedsheets beneath me, the softness of his bare skin against mine, the silence that was broken by our gasps and heavy breathing, the look on his face when he reaches the point of pure pleasure. This, right here, is what I crave. This is what I need.

This is what I live for. 

Every time I hook up with someone it goes pretty much the way I expect. Average, not leaving me begging for more, but not leaving me dissatisfied either. These aren't your wild and adventurous hook-ups that you dream of when you imagine being with someone. No, those kind of things only happen in your head. They're not life changing in the slightest, but hey, I'm not complaining. I actually prefer it that way. Truth is, that's all I needed. 

Sure, I can develop feelings for these guys, that's nothing new. I'm only human. But as soon as I feel myself growing attached to them or feeling like I might want something more with them.. from them, I cut them off at the source. Starve their iMessage inbox. Reject their calls on the first ring. Block their number straight after. Walk away from them when they see me at the local nightclub. 

They become dead to me.

These days, I notice too often that no matter where you go or what time it is or what you're doing, there are couples everywhere. Surrounding you. It's like everyone is in love with the idea of being in love. Who knows, maybe they are. Maybe they're happy. But I look at them, just look at them, and can't help but look the other way. Am I disgusted by their PDA? Not at all. I'm just over it. I'm over the whole 'love' thing. 

To me, being in love means being forced into a corner to make the other person happy. Being emotionally exhausted and bending over backwards for someone who might only be in it to screw you over anyway. I should know, I've been there once before and by the end of it, I was pretty happy to cash in on that return ticket right back to my life of dinners-for-one. 

Home life isn't all that fun, either. Actually.. it's a living Hell. 

I've watched my parents fight for years, and not only verbally. Physically, too. It's heartbreaking to witness. 
My mom is an alcoholic, has been since I was about six years old.. or was it five? It was an early age, regardless. Hell, I might have even been younger. 

It was the same story every time. My dad, the saint that he is, would do everything himself. He'd get me ready for school, he'd take me there, pick me up at the end of the day, cleaned the house, cooked me dinner, he did everything. He took on the responsibility of two parents.
You might ask "where was your mother all this time?". Truth be told, I ask myself that same question every day. Where was she? Where did she go to, how did she spend her days? All I knew for certain was that by the time I got home from school, she was gone. She'd finally reappear at around 12am, coincidentally the same time my dad awoke for his job. I'd wake up from my slumber, they'd argue, they'd fight, she'd pass out in bed and he'd leave for work. Dad hated leaving me alone with her and her unpredictable ways, he always worried that she'd do something.. take me away with her and leave forever maybe. Who knows. By the time I woke up the next morning, dad was already home and she would still be dead to the world in the bedroom. 

It was a vicious circle, repeating itself over and over again. Endless. 

There were times when I was older when me and my dad would sit in front of the TV and eat dinner together. But he'd always look broken, no matter how happy he was about something, the pain across his face would never fade. It broke me to see, and it was all because of her. My mom. I hated her for what she did to him. But he stuck around because he loved her, I know he did. It wasn't just for me, it was for her, too. Maybe he hoped that she'd change one day, that she would get the help she so badly needs and transform back into the woman he married. 

But that's love for you. It makes you and then one day breaks you into more pieces than you could ever count.

Love is a complication that I neither need nor want. I'm perfectly happy living my life by my rules and there's no one in this world that can change that. If we all know one thing, it's that love is one hell of a drug.. and drugs are bad. 

My name, is Alice Atwell. 
And this is my story. The beginning of my downfall.