I inhale and I'm not myself anymore.
I've become a monster.
A prisoner.
I've become everything he ever stood for.
I'm becoming him.
I've become him.
Everything is fuzzy and gray.
This isn't enough anymore.
I need more, more, more.
More.
I can feel my heart beating through my chest.
Begging for me to stop.
But I can't stop, I don't want to stop.
I inhale again. The world stops spinning for a split second.
And I've found peace.
I'm numb.
I'm comfortable.
Well, as comfortable as I'm going to get.
But this high doesn't last for long.
In a matter of minutes I fall to reality.
I don't like reality.
I shiver, I shake.
I scream.
Get me out of here.
I inhale again.
This time I cough.
And I know this isn't enough anymore.
I need to find something else.
Something stronger.
And if I don't kill myself, it will.
The pavement on the back court envelops me.
My feelings turn to concrete.
I don't feel human.
I haven't felt human in a long time.
And I know it's no ones fault but my own.
There's a needle in my bag.
I've never done anything like it before.
I know if I do it there's no turning back.
I know I'll either get hooked or fall into some sort of coma.
Either way I'll end up dead in a couple of months.
The consequences don't seem that bad after all.
Reality continues to sink in.
I'm drowning.
Drowning in my own mess.
There's a needle in my bag.
And I need to make a choice.
My hands quake as I unzip the bag.
The syringe is waiting.
All I need to do is stab myself in the arm.
I'm afraid.
I'm so afraid.
I know I'm going to do it.
But I don't want to do it.
But I can't stop myself.
My body craves more.
More.
More.
More.
So much more.
I scream.
I scream loud.
I tremble.
Tears stream.
I never wanted to be like him.
I never wanted to be the best.
I wanted to be myself.
Gary 'Squib' Furlong.
But I was pushed, continuously pushed.
Be more like Ryan.
So I rebelled.
Drugs seemed like the only option.
I figured everyone would get off my back and I could live.
I wouldn't get addicted.
Well big surprised, I got addicted.
They wanted to help me.
My friends, that is.
They told me to talk.
Talk.
Talking couldn't cure me then and sure as hell won't now.
The needle goes into my arm.
I wince.
And somehow I know I'm going to die.
I cry.
I cry like a baby.
I'm so scared.
I know I'm going to die.
In midst of all this hell I smile.
It's a sad smile.
This will be my last high.
Last jolt of false joy I will ever feel.
There's no beauty in this.
Absolutely none.
All of a sudden I vomit.
It's nothing human.
Nothing even close to it.
I bury my head in my hands and scream.
I scream until my voice is barely audible.
I want to turn back.
I want another chance.
I'll make it better this time.
I scream but no sound comes out.
But I hear a scream.
It's not my own.
I muster all my energy and turn my head.
She's staring at me.
Her blue eyes are wide and full of horror.
I speak.
I'm so sorry.
I whisper it again.
She can't seem to move.
I fall to the ground.
I clutch my stomach.
I try to hold on to my insides.
She runs and falls next to me.
I hold her hand.
She holds mine.
She cries.
I cry.
I need just one more chance.
And I'm not sure if I'll get it.
I take in her beauty.
I sob.
I'm so sorry.
And I close my eyes.
For what I know it will be the last time.