and i just cant keep living this way, so starting today im breaking out of this cage.
Reid could pinpoint the exact moment when he realized the diladuid was going to ruin his life, and himself. It was two weeks when he returned home from New Orleans, seeing his old friend, and he had just removed the needle from his arm and was leaning against his bathtub since it was cool on his heated skin, he would often sweat while high and the bathroom became his personal sanctuary. He was laying there, staring at the tiles on the opposite side of the room, when he - for the first time in a while - diverted his gaze to the crook in his elbow, and saw the damage he was truly doing. He was littered with scabs and bruises and scars, some from himself and some from Hankle, and it struck him that he hadn't killed Hankle that night.
He had let Hankle live in his head.
Im standing up, I'ma face my demons. I'm manning up, I'ma hold my ground. I've had enough, now im so fed up, tryin' to put my life back together right now.
After that, every time he shot up it lacked the ignorance that lingered before, the ignorance in which he could pretend it was one more time and not a big deal, that he could stop and quit at any given moment. He became snappier at work, withdrawing from his team members, Morgan would often ask if he was ok, and Reid would just nod, he didn't try and make it convincing. He was just so exhausted of lying, he was not ok. He stopped writing to his mother, he became depressed, each case was long and tiring and he couldn't bring himself to care as much as he did before. He was sinking into a hole that was growing wider and darker and he let himself fall in, almost as if he was free-falling through the air, not caring if he hit rock bottom, and when he finally got there, the only way was up.
So, he began to get high less and less, which worsened his irritability and depression, and he let the moods ride themselves out as it was the only way to reach the bottom.
After three weeks of low moods and withdrawal symptoms he hit rock bottom, and suddenly he had the strength to stand back up and fight.
It was my decision to get clean, I did it for me. Admittedly, I probably did it subliminally for you so i could come back a brand new me, you helped see me through, & you dont even realize what you did.
Two months later from rock-bottom, and Reid had stopped taking diladuid, the withdrawal had shook him too his core, he questioned everything he knew about life, about himself, about unsubs and victims. He struggled, everyday was a new struggle, every night he was plagued by nightmares but he acknowledged they would pass, he had suppressed emotion for so long that his thoughts and feelings were hitting him by the bucket load. He found as well, much to his surprise, that he was okay without it, he no longer needed to shove the retched needle into his arm to fake a smile and he no longer needed to take eye drops so his dilated pupils would shrink. Reid had got better, he had done it for himself, and maybe partly for his team, so they wouldn't be disappointed in him any longer. On his two months and two weeks clean date, Reid was a changed man. He had not had a nightmare the previous night and when he walked into the BAU, he did so confidently. He smiled a little too himself -
this is what it is like to really live.