I was left shaking. Wanting more. Crying because of my need to end my pain with...more pain.

In the process of 'becoming clean' I needed small doses throughout. Just a little time will hold me over. It'll be okay, I thought. But every small set back turned out to be a major set back, pulling me back to the beginning of the process of 'becoming clean.'

This addiction is unbreakable, I decided. My eyes will never be dry, my insides will never not hurt. This is how I'll die. Alone and addicted and suffering, I know it. This is who I am, I thought.

And little do people who don't struggle with addiction know just how hard it is. How overwhelming and disastrous and life-taking it is. Just how belittling and horrible and hopeless it feels. How lonely it is. And they say, just stop. Walk away.

"Don't talk to him anymore."

"Don't buy that anymore."

"Don't take that anymore."

"Don't do that anymore."

"Don't think that way."

"Don't say those things."

"Don't want that."

If only it were that easy.. If only our insides didn't ache beyond explanation and our minds didn't wander past sanity. If only they would listen instead of assume. If only they would help instead of judge. If only they would see that it isn't what you want to choose, it's just all you think you can choose.

It's the only way you know how to live, I know.

You don't know how to not be hurt, I know.

You don't know how to entertain yourself with something other than daydreaming of ways to disappear, I know.

But you look at me and you think that I don't know.

You look at her and you look at him and you think you're the only one because look at the way they're smiling....Look at the way they're just fine. Why can't I be fine like you? Yeah, I've asked it too.

But if only they could answer, they just might say, "I'm not fine. I'm nowhere near fine. I don't even know how to live without being dependent on people and things."

But they don't reply to your judgmental glares...they have nothing to say to your envious stare. But they get in their car and they drive home, not really worried about their speed because they don't care what happens. They zone out and find themselves finally home, or at least the place they sleep, and they drag themselves to their bed and they might ignore the idea of taking a shower or brushing their teeth because why does it matter, why does anything matter, and they fall into bed with dripping eyes and they think of the girl they saw that day and wonder, why can't I be fine like her? Fuck, why can't I be fine like her?

So I decided to tell people that sometimes, I'm not fine. I'll touch your cold hands that lay on your lap and despite your smile, I'll let you know that it's okay to not be okay, because sometimes, I'm not either.