The End

[Ziggy455]

Pills: tiny little chalky things. They’re consumed, broken down, bonded with and pissed out. It’s a funny, strange old word where people like me find the need to swallow down different calibres each and every day. Paracetamol, Ibuprofen, Codeine, Aspirin, Co-Codamol. Pick your counter-poison. It’s all the same. They’re made to kill pain.

 

Waking up in a zombie state everyday isn’t exactly what I had planned years down the line, of course years down the line I had everything figured out. I knew what I wanted, and for a brief moment I had it. I had happiness. The warm fuzzy feeling inside where nothing feels wrong and you can stare at the world for something it isn’t. You don’t see the big black hole of darkness that is constantly behind you, sucking in all the weakness and corruption that can mix. If you’re smart, and you’re strong, or even if you’re ahead of the proverbial social curve, you get away from that black hole. If you’re strong, but unlucky, then you’re consumed. You become a part of the blackness and have to try and crawl your way out of it. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel because when you finally get out, you realize that you’ve not made any significant changes in your life. You’ve just restarted at a previous position.

 

You’ve climbed out of the sewer and you’re up to the gutter. You’ve still got a long way to go to reach the top, and with that crushing pressure in your head – You realise, that maybe you can’t win. You can’t accept defeat and you can’t let go of the past. And so you take pills. You take 2000mg of Paracetamol because it’s better than having to deal with this big f*cking chunk of existence that screams out for a quick shot to the cranium. That’s what I think anyway.

 

I live in the past. For too long I’ve looked backwards and it’s only turned me into a pathetic, agitated wreck. I don’t mingle, I don’t mix. The only friends I have come in dosages. Some keep me awake at night, and I consort with other friends to help me sleep. I see Aspirin in the morning, Codeine in the afternoon; paracetamol in the evening and eventually, Zopiclone in the evening. And why is that? Because a man of my stature can’t deal with death. A man of my stature can’t deal with the fact he is a murderer and that at one point, he mattered. Sure, he was in harm’s way and bullets were no unusual recurrence but at least he was giving back to this world.

 

Now look him/me. Sitting in a pissy little bar on some sort of technological little thing writing about how miserable his life as gotten. Mixing pills and Bells together. Is this what my life has come to? It seems so.

Edited November 25, 2012 by Ziggy455

[albanyave]

Very real

 

So true, powerful, vivid

 

Good job