What is wrong with me? No, seriously what is wrong with me? I spent the whole of last week signing up at the methadone clinic, I showed up everyday at 6pm sharp and guzzled down my repulsive green punch with a smile. Now look at me, I’m back to shooting dope, I haven’t been to the clinic in well over a week and in that time I’ve copped a habit that is larger than I think I can handle. I mean, shit, I just scored last night and here I am today already hankering for another bag.
As I sit here on this train heading out to pick up, I wonder “am I so weak?” is it me that doesn’t have the will or is it this drug? This vile, sickening, beautiful drug, which I so disgustingly adore.
I want to believe, I want to believe so badly that its not me, it’s this drug that has made me like this, that has turned me into this person that I cannot even stand to look at in the mirror anymore. At the end of the day I know it’s me, my own little petty fears and weakness that keep bringing me back to smack.
At first it was the high. I remember that first time I took a hit up at Silvercord Park, a bunch of my friends were doing line of it and I looked upon them with disgust. And then this kid Adam, he picked on me every single day at school, he turned to me and asked, “you want some?” even though I was staunchly against it, I immediately let out a “yes.” That first euphoric rush and I knew right then and there that this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. None of it mattered, none of the pain and suffering, none of the petty high school bullshit and social awkwardness, none of it mattered anymore. Before I knew it I was trapped, having to score every day to battle back the sickness.
My mind has been in this state of apathy for years now, not more than a day or two has my mind touched upon sobriety. And it’s all because of that state, that state of numbness to the world that comes with doing heroin every day. I don’t dare stop because I don’t know how I could possibly face the day with the clear head that comes with being clean.
Stopping is the easy part, I’ve got methadone and I can dodge the sickness of withdrawal. The only thing standing in my way is me. I have to want it, I know that, there are no illusions; I have to want to face the world with a clear head.
But do I want to? Do I want to have to face every single day of my life with a mind that is not numb and my sense not dulled? Do I want to handle the events of day-to-day life without any form of escape? Can I handle it?
Honestly and truly,

I don’t know… I just don’t know.