Tuesday, February 8, 2011

[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?"

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