Lately, I've been waking up wondering if I have enough sleeping pills to get me through the week. I take them every night now to distract from your arms not being with my arms reach. When you ask your friends about a new boy, they never tell you to not sleep with him, because one day his absence in your bed will haunt everything.
And I wonder now what kind of pills I can take during the day to numb you being 200 miles away. I wonder why I am agreeing to run back to the turmoil you caused me and inject it in again- even if just for a night.
I fear I am relapsing.
I fear the rehab did not work.
I have shot through every 9 step system I have and they all failed.
I am hiding you in skirt pockets and nightstand drawers and journals- praying that my friends do not find you and call me weak. But I am weak. The withdrawals hit me hard and people are tiptoeing around me kindly, telling me to let it go.
200 miles away you are doing fine. Being lonely was the key to your progression. You're friends don't answer me when I ask if you are happy, because they do not think I actually care. They think I want to win. But I've never even been close to competing unless you are winning by a stretch.
My favorite drug has always been your happiness. It is the only pill I want to take. A shot of vodka chases your smile all the way down. That combination can make me do some crazy things.
All systems have failed.
My sleeping pills kick in now.
I pray, alone in the dark, that I will dream of you again tonight- and maybe wake up tomorrow with arms that are not reaching.
Erica is a theater student at Avrett University.