Desperate attempts at keeping my favourite band and fandom alive with cringy one-shots of my favourite two people coming together and loving each other fictionally.
It's for mine and many others' small desires to see band members become more than th...
I'm literally suspended for a week so what better way to make time go a little faster?
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I could do this, I can be better. Yeah, I can get my life together finally, maybe my hair will start to grow out and my face will become as bright as it used to be. These all were good motivational tactics I used on myself most of the time, but after five years . . . it does eventually get a little repetitive telling myself lies when deep down I knew in my soul that I won't ever truly recover. It'll always be in the dark part of my past, looking to come knock back at the door of my mind whenever possible. Usually, I don't answer it.
But there's this rush that I get when I do something wrong when I know it's bad and I've never understood that feeling, it was like adrenaline, but without all the crazy impulsive thoughts. I had a home all to myself at the moment, since my partner was out, doing manual work 'outside of town'. I knew what he was doing, but I was too much of a pussy to do anything about it. When I wake up to the same walls, to the same clothes, to the same routine, after awhile . . . I start to ask myself why the hell was I here in the first place.
Before those thoughts could consume me, I would replace them with mechanisms I could keep my mind busy on. Some of which becoming incredibly bad habits for me, but hey, it's better than eating your own tail. I sat on the floor in the middle of the empty storage room I hung out in most of the time with the pipe between my fingers filled with a small cube of meth, just waiting to be smoked. But I couldn't seem to focus on it.
For the last few days, I had just been staring, entranced by the darkness of the room with the pipe still heavy in my hands. My head ached, and my eyes burned without sleep. I was willing myself to get up and do something, anything, instead of just sitting there. I had my phone next to me, sitting in the exact same position I had left it in. I hadn't touched it, but it had gone off a couple of times. I was sitting criss-cross, but everything under my waist was completely numb.
I attempted to move, the first time I had in so long really. I don't know exactly how to properly explain it but these last few days, I haven't been feeling like myself. Feel like my whole demeanour has shifted. I stopped talking and thinking altogether, something I had never been able to do until the drugs. That's honestly part of the reason I continued to use them, sometimes they could shut off my brain's constant whirlwind of thoughts.
Like Right Now.
"Gerard?! I'm home!" What? He said he wouldn't be back for a week.
