In TePaea, Dorm four. Standing in the bathroom. Lights on low, staring at my reflection. Disgusted, appalled. Bags under my eyes, deep purple crescents. Former hazel eyes, sunk into the sockets, seemingly seconds from rolling back and leaving me blind. I’m thin, smaller than I’ve ever been. Muscles wasted away to bare nothingness, like an anorexic stick figure. A chessboard of bruises formed just under my skin, blood at the surface, ready and waiting to break through.

Never mind how I look at the moment, soon it won’t matter anymore. No one will need to look at me again. Ever. Not even the mirror.
Sick of this bullshit. Pathetic addict I’ve become, wasting away in my own flesh. Dying. Decaying. I would cry, but I’m sick of crying. I don’t want to cry anymore, I can’t stand the pain. It hurts too bad. Everything hurts too bad.

God I need a fix.

I look down at my arm, at the scabs, imagining the syringe in my hand, full of the beautiful liquid I had fallen in love with. Never loved anything else. Sorry Kas.

You know, this is all your fault. You got me into this shit. You showed me this world. Everyday, I willingly inject myself full of toxic waste, trying to heal the scars inside. Just making more. I did it for you. But you don’t appreciate it. You cant, can you? Can you see me, from your GRAVE? Can you see how bad my life is without you? You got me into this. Then you got yourself out. Bu what about me?
Selfish bastard… Why couldn’t you have taken me too?

Control yourself, you can do this!

See, I was such a nice girl till I met you. Back in the beginning, I was a good girl.
Paid attention in class, kept my dorm clean, listened to the matron, and generally stayed out of trouble. But you didn’t like that, did you? And now look at me, a washed out junkie. Failing 6th form. Such a loser!

I knew who you were, what you were about. Everyone did. But I never paid much attention. I was too caught up in… you know. Then, you showed me the ’error’ of my ways. You knew he’d never look twice at me, so you gave me something else to obsess over. You.

It was just small stuff at first, skiving class and smoking down on the soccer field now and again. But soon you figured out how dumb I was. How gullible I was. After a few weeks, you’d made me into a girl version of you, shooting up behind the music room. None of it bothered me. So I lost a few friends, who cares? My marks were slipping? I’ll catch up later. It didn’t matter. Nothing did; I didn’t care about anything anymore. I had you.

That’s probably why I’m such a mess now. I freaked out. You left me alone. You… went. You took yourself away, and everything else suddenly had to be important again. Other people. I saw them. Noticed them. And I didn’t know how to deal with them. None of them knew about what I did. Blind, deaf and dumb, they just though I was weird. Everyone knew about you and your habits, but they never even guessed that I was into as much shit as you in the end…
Someone knocks on the door. Interrupts my thoughts.

“Jess, you ok in there?�

Stop staring at the mirror. Open the door. Plastic smile. See, I’m perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about. Never better… Lying comes so easily now. Lying to the Matrons. The other girls. Myself… It’s easier to lie than it is to try and tell the truth. Easier to lie and smile and pretend everything is alright, even though I’m bleeding and burning on the inside. I wish I could tell someone the truth, but what would I say?

“Are you insane? Of course I’m not alright. My best friend, my boyfriend, just OD’ed. I’m seeing thing… I’m hearing things. My body is rotting away before my very eyes. I’m dying, inside and out… And, right now, I’m so dry I’d do ANYTHING for a fix… Yeah, so… As you see, I’m perfectly NOT alright… I… I need help…�

That just would never happen. I’ll never be able to ask… It’s just the way I am. Besides, who could I tell? Who’d listen? No one wants to know. Everyone asks “what’s wrong?� and “are you ok�, but no one is really interested in the answers…

If I could just get a hit, I’d be alright…

Wandering around the school. Lost. Looking. Down to the soccer field. Behind the trees. Drop down, sit on the grass. On my knees, praying. Caught up in the bullshit in my head.

Do I really want this? Switching sides. One minute, suicidal, contemplating my epitaph and what songs will be played at my funeral. Then, if I could get it right, I’d see you again. Be with you again.

I mean, I don’t love you. Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t. I cant. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you…

If I stay clean, stay alive, I’m alone.
But if I slash, I’ll see you.
I bleed, I’ll see you.
But then again, if I get my needle, I’ll see you there too…

Two objects before me. A syringe. A razor. Both are freedom. Both are pain. Both will take me to you.

Sick to death of my pathetic addiction. Living my life dependant on a needle. Beautiful confusion on a wave of liquid amber…

It’s a question of strength; did you give up on life? Were you too weak to keep going? Or were you being strong, getting rid of yourself before the needle got rid of you?
What about me? If I choose the razor, am I weak? Or the needle? Am I weak? Do I end this pain?

I stare down at my hands… Ugly. Veiny. Boney. Too white… Paper skinned… Old hands. Addicts hands… A line from some dumb movie pops into my head.

“What can I do? I’m just a junkie with a monkey.�

Just a junkie… What can I do? What should I do?

I hate you Kas, why’d you have to screw me up like this? Look at me. Wasting away. Dissolving. Crumbling.

I used to be such a good girl. Now I’m a dead girl. Junkie, no monkey. No friends. No life. No Kas.

My arm, so itchy… Why is it so itchy? Bugs, under my skin… Feel my nails as they tear tiny grooved in the paper. My skin…

Needle. Razor. Needle. Razor. Needle. Razor.

What do I do? I can’t take much more of this!

Still hurts too much to die. Will it hurt too much to die? Hey, a rhyme… Kas liked rhymes. Loved poetry. Loved lots of stuff. Loved me. I think…

Loved me and left me. How nice of you Kas. Just because I couldn’t love you back, it didn’t mean that I didn’t like you a hell of a lot.

Pick up the razor. Admire its simplistic beauty. Feel the cold metal against my skin… Hold out my arm, ready to slice. Deep and hard.

Hesitate. Tears in my eyes. Drop the razor. Drop my head, hold it in my hands. Too weak… Too weak…

Breathing deep... Gotta do something… Hurts so bad… Slip the leather belt tourniquet around my shriveled bicep. Pull it tight. Close my eyes, wincing, as the needle pierces my flesh.

Remember how scared of needles I used to be? A junkie scared of needles… I chose the wrong drug…

I hold my breath… See you soon Kas…
I pull back, sucking my blood into the syringe, squirming inside with anticipation.
Here goes nothing. I shoot…

Liquid happiness spreads through my veins… I feel myself smiling, really smiling, for the first time since you died.

I wait a moment; let the buzz wash over me. Then, I open my eyes, and look into yours…

This is really something, and something fascinating. True, I hope not? In any case, I love it anyway, and you for writing it. Yes, leave it right here on the Poetry Board; I think it's quite poetic indeed, that it is a poem, and also I want it here in my special place to keep it close and read again.

Now, if this is true, if this is you, then send a personal message to my friend Shawn, Dr. Mikula (I email him all my poems, but this would be a rather more urgent matter). I suspect that you are such a good writer that you have written this so convincingly the reader must pause and wonder; that's the idea, and well done. But, of course, were what you write drawn from life, then we would want to help you and keep you here among us to sing us more of your wonderful poems and tell us more stories like this.

I hope you are well, and that you will write us more. Feel free to contact me anytime you like, if you like. Maybe you'd like to see my AuthorsDen site, where there is all sorts of stuff about me and by me:

http://www.authorsden.com/stevencurtislance

Thanks again for coming to us, and now you are one of us. Right then!

Mind the Cows,

+Stevie

I'm feeling quite proud right now hehe. No this is not entirely true, but I am happy that it is convincing enough to make people think, however briefly, that it could be.

Thank you for your kind concern though If this story was indeed based on my reality, right now I would indeed be asking you for your help simply because you made me feel as though I could

~Jessy

Wonderfully convincing. Thanks for sharing this. I`m glad this is not your reality. I`m certain it could be for many. You are a talented writer. Nice to have you aboard.

Rodger