[Note: Written on January 30, 2011]
The absence of the amphetamines in my system is more apparent than ever tonight.
I am at a house party.
I hear every sound.
I hear every door opening and closing; every clink of every glass; every vibration of the speakers filling the room with music; every snippet of conversation.
Every word of every conversation occurring in the crowded, noisy room.
I won't remember any of it.
But I hear it all so clearly.
I feel every sound-induced vibration rippling through my page and into the tip of my pen.
I have once again indulged myself with the alcohol.
I can feel its terrible invitation; its irresistible pull.
I know that I should have stopped at two, yet I have allowed myself to continue.
This is not me.
Why do I allow this to happen?
Why must I wonder about this?
Nobody else in this room hesitates before every tip of their glass.
Why have I always been the one burdened with the label of "different?"