W for dictionary poetry.
Waken
In my addiction I thought I was seeing things clearly because I knew I was an addict, but denial lingered on my breath like liquor.
I believed that drugs were making me happier yet they were making me less like myself every day.
I thought I would never be sober and satisfied, but I'd soon realize that drugs were the reason for the hole in my chest.
I often did not see a problem with much of my behavior, I did not feel guilt for many of the things I did until they were long over.
Wallow
Let the passion consume you, let the passion overpower your mind until it dominates your thoughts.
Talk about it endlessly, talk about it obsessively, talk about it until you annoy everyone you come in contact with, then talk about it more.
Surround yourself with things that remind you of it, consume everything related to it, listen to songs about it until you know every lyric.
Let it infiltrate your identity, start to see yourself as deeply and intrinsically related to it.
View everything through a lens colored by it, let every area of your life be seen through the eyes of your passion, relate everything back to it.
Write about it in your diary more than you write about your own life, talk about it more than you talk about yourself.
Think about it more than anything, watch every thought be slowly traced back to the thing you love.
Weak
Someone moves and speaks and behaves in a way that he used to and I am suddenly fourteen years old and in my brother's car wondering what happens next.
I sit in his car and he begins driving, soon he is rambling and yelling and I am terrified.
Suddenly all the emotions I felt at eight years old come rushing back to me and I start to question if today will be the last day of my life.
He said he would kill me if I stepped out of line. Maybe now would be the end of it. Maybe today he would seal the deal.
Why don't you take me into the woods and kill me right there? Why not? Why don't you drag my body somewhere and cover me in leaves? What's stopping you?
I really started to question it at that moment. Is this it for me? Is this all I will ever amount to? I never got to live, is today the day I die?
Weary
I'm tired of missing it.
I wish I never knew what it felt like, I wish I could rid my brain of what it feels like, because I miss it more than I've ever missed anything.
I miss crushing up a pill and using the same pen to inhale it every time, I miss the burning feeling in my nose, I miss that more than I could ever put into words.
I feel like doing it again would be like coming back home.
I know that this is not the way to happiness, I understand that getting sober again would be painful if it ever came to it, and that if I go back out there's no reason to believe I'd ever come back.
I know it's not worth throwing my life away, it's not worth becoming stagnant.
I wish I never understood this. I wish my brain did not know of such highs, because now that I've gotten a taste of it my mind always comes back to it.
Wilt
I miss it, I miss it more than I have ever missed anything, but I know letting myself go back to it is like letting myself rot.
I know the pattern will reinforce itself until it kills me, I know I will burn myself into the ground looking for my next high.
I will hurt those I love, I will disappoint them again.
I know that the more I do it the more I want it, that the cravings are worse high than they are sober.
I look back on the year I spent high and I look at a year of pain and stagnation, I look at a year of endless dissatisfaction.
I know that this will not give me what I am looking for.
Withdrawal
I want to hide away.
In my mind I see a house in the middle of the woods, it's small and it's just for me.
I would make blanket forts and never leave, I would spend my days watching cartoons and writing poems.
I would be a loser and I wouldn't care, I would be undeniably weird.
I would never venture out and I would rarely talk to anyone, I would be alone and I would like it that way.
I would dress in strange ways and draw rainbow freckles on my face, I would decorate the house as if I were a fourteen year old girl.
I would have strange routines and do the same thing every day.
As I walked from room to room I would talk to myself and sing along to my favorite songs.
I would get nothing done, I would do as little as I felt like, I would do whatever I wanted whenever I felt like it.
I would drink energy drinks like water, I would write endlessly, I would create worlds within my mind and let them be more real than reality.
I would own far too many stuffed toys and buy more whenever I felt like it, I would drink coffee with too much creamer, I would make my home an entirely different universe, entirely cut off from the real world.
I would make my own decor, I would hang fake clouds and individually choose the design for every inch of my house, it would be perfect.
I would never tell anyone where I live, I would go unseen and unknown.
I would own so many pieces of art supplies, I would sleep on the floor, I would wear my emotions.
I would keep my books and diaries and art journals all together, they would be safe and honored.
I would do everything for myself, I wouldn't worry about who was there to see me because there wouldn't be anyone there.
Wither
Sometimes I can forget about it, it's just another collection of moments, these things happened and they are over now.
I thought I wasn't going to survive it but I did, I thought I wasn't going to get over it but I did.
Still sometimes the memories come back to choke me.
I find myself staring at the ground because I cannot stand to be reminded of it again.
The thoughts and emotions come flooding back to me.
I thought I was going to die that day, I remember sitting in the car and asking myself if this would be it for me.
I am fourteen years old and today he is going to shoot me in the woods and bury my body under the leaves. I am fourteen years old and he is going to take me somewhere and leave me there. I am fourteen years old and today I am going to take my final breath.
I didn't know if I was going to make it home, I didn't know if this car ride would be my final moments.
Those moments changed things within me, things that will never be normal, things that never got the chance to be normal.
Those days are over, I haven't seen him in over a year and if he meant it he would have by now, but still when I remember them I am overcome by fear.
Those days live within me, those moments of fear remain stagnant in my mind.
Woeful
I almost want to talk about it, I want someone to know what I went through, I want them to know every detail of it.
I want to tell them about how he raped me, about how I thought I was going to die at his hand, about how I thought I was going to die in my own bed.
See me, see that this is something heavy to hold, see that this is not normal, know that I have been through hell.
Maybe that's wrong, to want people to know how bad it really was, but I am far too tired of pretending that this is easy.
I cannot continue to pretend that I have the perfect family, I will not pretend that these moments didn't break me in a way that words cannot even begin to express.
Believe me, know that the way I am makes sense, understand that I was never being dramatic, see that what I want through was real and was bad enough.
I spent so many years of my life being called dramatic and attention seeking, I assure you that if you knew the life of which I lived you would be the same way I am, you would want someone to see what happened.
Believe me, these memories replay in my mind endlessly, I need them to have somewhere else to live, listen to me tell the story again and again.
Be a witness to my pain, know that it broke me into tiny pieces.
Wonder
I am eighteen soon, soon I will no longer be considered a child, soon I will have a job and be an adult.
I will have to pay bills and manage money, I will have to go to school and stay up late to finish assignments, I will have to wake up early and stop sleeping in.
When I imagine having to do all these things it's hard to see myself doing all of them without internally combusting, I find it hard to imagine myself as an adult.
I feel like I am only just beginning to understand how to be a teenager, I am only just beginning to take notes for school, remember to wash my hair, and finish my to-do list.
I still sleep through my alarms and don't have a job.
I start to wonder if I will become a successful adult, if I will be able to handle it all.
Wound
I got a taste of something extraordinary, something otherworldly, something life does not compare to.
Drugs showed me things I did not know I was capable of.
Drugs showed me endless energy and elation, drugs showed me staying up all night rambling on about how amazing I feel.
Drugs showed me peace and bliss unlike any I have ever known, drugs showed me oozing like honey and melting into the floor beneath me.
My mind has a taste for things it cannot tolerate, I have a taste of something so lovely that will kill me if I let it.