Addiction

Addiction.
Just that single word sends shivers up my spine. It manipulates you and forces you into things you never thought you were capable of. It will send you to the lowest of lows and bounce your head on the ground to see if it can still send you down farther. It makes you see the horrors and terrifying truths of life. It will make you understand what depending on something really means and what true fright feels like. It’s one hell of a fucking roller coaster you want to stay as far away from.

But getting down there isn’t the hard part. It’s easy to depend on something for a way to cope or thrill you. It’s the getting back up, that’s the hard part. It’s difficult to let go of what you’ve become so attached to. You’ll have withdrawal symptoms ranging from headaches to panic attacks. You’ll be in so much more pain than what you were when you had the addiction to help you cope with life. Because now you are not only trying to get better, you still have to deal with the little bitchy thing called life.

Addictions come in all forms though. For example, mine is self harm, specifically cutting. And before you say it isn’t an addiction, yes it is. Sure it’s not like drinking but the withdrawals are all the same. The pain of staying clean is the same as one from any other addiction. Anyways, I started because life was being frustrating. I have a horrible self image, trust and love issues, anger problems, very selfish and not much to offer. I felt hopeless and stressed with myself that I became numb. I couldn’t take it and started cutting. The pain was… so blissful. I felt something again. Sure it wasn’t happiness and love, like I really want, but it was something. And something was better than nothing. Life continued to be horrible and get worse so I began cutting more and more. To this day, you can feel the groves across my arm from the indents of the blade piercing my skin. But the problem is, no matter how much I want it gone, I just can’t. Why? Because I got addicted. I love the way the blade slices my skin. I enjoy the sight of my skin turning pink, red and tender. I desire the way I start to bleed and can just watch the blood drip down my arm slowly. I live for the way it sends pain throughout my body. The way it gives me a rush of emotion; somewhere between bliss and torment. The way that even after I have cleaned up and slipped my bracelets back on, I still feel tinges of pain if the bracelets hit them just right.

But I also know that every time I pick up the fucking blade I’m hurting myself: for the fucking thrill! That’s not at all right. It’s not something to be proud of. I’m ashamed of it; embarrassed by it. I hide it with bracelets but even bracelets give everyone the slightest hint that I cut. People think I’m some emo bitch looking for attention. But I’m not. I just found a way to cope that is visible to the human eye. I know that when I get older, I’ll be stuck with scars on my wrists and all I can say is “I did it for the thrill.” or “I did it to cope.” Kind of sad, huh?

You may relapse, reach the top, or stay stuck in that rut. But the important thing is to keep trying to get out. An addiction is only a temptation that you get attached too. It does not mean you’ll be stuck with it forever.