Addict – Redux

I came close to dying again.

The hit this time, was strong. There were but a few seconds of euphoria. Followed by a drastically steep crash. My elevated mood plummeted, closely mirrored by a thundering heart beat.

The first step towards healing is admitting I have a problem. I echo the last words “I have a problem” as if they were spoken by Narcissus.

Echoes have a way to distill meaning. If I were to say, “I have a problem and don’t want to die”, the echo would contort and and ask in hushed tones; “want to die?” The ultimate question is whether I should kill myself.

The addictive hold could once be cajoled like a bucking horse. But these days, the horse ensnares. It carries me, the victim on its back and when I look down I see a sickle and the steely grip of a skeletal hand.

Standing, I become dizzy. Pleading with my heart to beat a regular melody. My head spinning like a dervish dancer. Swaying body untamable. Reasoning lost within laboured breath.

I am an addict and my next hit comes too soon. The grip of my trainers bury into the track. Body weight drops, planting my frame into the ground. The invisible sound of a gun fires and I pounce.

Faster, momentum. The people I pass are blurs. I flow Mercurial, sprinting past the finish line. The euphoria ends again. I am down, waiting for my next hit.

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