So much pain…
and, still, not as bad as it could be, but that only worries me. Is it going to get worse before it gets better, again? God, I hope not. God damn promises…
why did I tell him to make me promise?
because, I do want to do this. It just doesn’t feel that way, right now. Must lay down… but first, here’s another excerpt from my play, from the voice of a character who’s about where I am, in the kicking process – but he’s doing a little better at this point in the story than I am in reality, so, maybe, I’ll have to go back and give him some more pain, just to be real about it:
"I’ve barely had a taste of being off this shit. Every hour, of every day, still revolves around whether or not I’m gonna get high. I’m barely out of full blown withdrawal. But… (Ardently) I’ve wanted this, for so long… (Hesitates) every day, I was determined to put it down. And, every night… I managed to convince myself… that in the scheme of it all… one more night wouldn’t matter. I played that game with myself, for years…"
And, here, that same character tells a friend why he’s sure that friend can kick, too, if he wants to:
"People do it. I’m doing it. Yeah, it’s hard, but… it’s not like the life you’re living is easy. (Slight pause) Not eating… because, hunger doesn’t hurt as much as withdrawal… that’s hard. (Slight pause) Barely keeping the lights on, and the rent paid… (Slight pause) surviving on hand outs, (hesitates slightly) from people you hate… (Brief pause, then, quietly) that’s hard. (With certainty, more audibly) And, when the hand outs stop… that’ll be even harder. (Slight pause, then, becoming grave) This life is isolating, and it’s demanding, and… it takes away possibilities, one at a time, so slowly, and quietly, you almost don’t notice, that time’s going by, and it’s all slipping away. But, when you look back, and all you see… is time that got away from you… THAT’S HARD. (Slight pause, then, becoming increasingly hard, and intense) Not living… just surviving… disappointed… with memories, that prey on your mind, tearing at what’s left of your sanity… without optimism, or illusions… just, seeing that, stretched out in front of you… like an empty road, that runs right into the horizon… that’s hard."
Yeah… if I can live like that, I can get through this.
I have to.
I wrote a while back that I needed to get busy living, or get busy dying. Not long ago, I thought I was going to go with the latter. But, for now, I’ve dug my heels in, and I’m not done fighting yet.