Chemical Bliss.

Cover Image

I waited until the rain had slowed to a fine drizzle before venturing outside my bedsit. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth and my skin still felt itchy and tight, as though I wanted to burst right out of it, a wretched creature comprised of bloody muscle and exposed organs. The image was fitting enough.

If it hadn’t been for the persistent sinus infection I had been suffering with for over a month now, I would have happily have walked out into the downpour and then the five miles to my dealer’s house. Not that smack exactly improves my physical health much, or at all really. But it does make me feel good when I’m blissed out, before the insatiable craving returns.

They don’t tell you about that in those anti-drug assemblies at school, do they? They don’t want you to know that heroin feels good. You put that shit in your veins and watch life’s problems swim away.

Nah, all they prattle on about is how dangerous it is. And smack is dangerous; my brain is not so addled that I have lost sight of that. But ordering a bunch of surly, restless teens not to do something shows a criminal (hah!) lack of understanding of how their minds work. In short: you tell them not to do something they are gonna fucking do it. After all, alcohol and cigs kill plenty of folks every year and they are perfectly legal, so what’s the big deal? And they have a point.

I’m not kidding myself though. My addiction will kill me some day. But the idea does not scare me whatsoever. My life was never gonna amount to shit-all. Was never good at anything in school (well, I was okay at essay writing, I guess. Hardly amounts to a life-skill though, does it?). I’m not squandering some brilliant God-given talent. Very few people are brilliant, you see. Some are good enough and have enough charisma to stick in the mind and do very well for themselves. And the rest of us are here to kill out the ranks or, more likely, because our parents forgot to use any protection that fateful night they fucked.

That’s just how it is.

I step into the drizzle, which clings to my prematurely-greying hair and dampens it almost immediately, and wonder what the difference is between illegal and legal drugs anyway: it’s all just chemical bliss, isn’t it.

Created: Feb 19, 2012


Emma-Conner Document Media