My Blogging Issues...

OK, so now that I have blogged once, I will give you a bit of my blogging background. I have a definite problem with blogging. You see, when I blog, what I am writing is exactly how I feel at that moment, but afterwards, I don't want to be reminded of how stupid I am, so I delete. I will attempt to keep that at a minimum. I am also an attention whore. No question. I like when people read my blogs and I like when people comment. Hopefully someone will. I like getting things off my chest, but I also like when other people are there to read it. I don't know. So, if you are reading this, then say "hi" even if that's all you say, hopefully I won't be the only one who sees what I write? Maybe.

Cravings

At the moment I want it. I want it really bad. It's not the average kind of desire, but a need that lives in the pit of your stomach. It started this morning, I woke up and was asked how I felt, and at that moment I knew that I wanted. So, I said, "Shit." I waited listening, for each stair to be hit, for the door to be closed, for silence to envelope the house. I got up, feeling nauseous, but I could do it. I opened the cabinet and grabbed my hit, an extra for good look. As I walked into the bathroom and looked at my hand I smiled. Toothy and young, naive? No, not then, never have been, not since August. I swallowed it down with water and I grabbed my computer, a bowl of cereal, looking around the web, feeling, ok, allowing my head to feel heavy, to feel thick, like someone had weighted it. The thought makes me want it more, right now, if I could I would steal it, I would sell anything for it, for a lifetime of that feeling. Fuck. Fuck? You mean fucked up? Well, maybe, but I'm young, too young. Or something like that? As, I walked into the den, I began to put on a DVD, I had moved too much and now knew what would happen. I squeezed the trashcan between my knees and exhaled, inhale, exhale. Deep breaths, moved my hair behind my ears. I studied the rotting banana at the bottom and I gave back the "Wheat Chexs" that I had eaten only a few hours earlier. I guess you might understand? Do you understand? I wasn't like this a year ago, or was I? Is this dormant? Have I always been fucked up? I don't want to be, I want to be free. I want to be happy, or something like that? Right? Maybe not, for a while I thought that a needle exchange down the street would be pretty cozy, haha, but not now. I quit that game. But scars don't quit. Mental, physical, it's all the same game, some just seem more apparent to passersby. They're both real though, more real than you can see, and sometimes when I the mental scars bleed the physical ones repeat it, as a reminder, a hint at what you once did. What I once did. So, guess what I'm doing, maybe you'll get a prize? Probably not, but at least you'll feel special, and isn't that what we all want.