hey friends!

back with another piece for you. :)

-endless


brain fog

A Ritalin summer starts like this: you don't anticipate the hunger for a stimulant drug after your first hit. But then the sweating starts; the bubbling of your lungs cracks and shutters with hunger for a pill; your heart pounds with adrenaline that shouldn't exist, that shouldn't be fueling your body, but it's there and there's no stopping the impending destruction that awaits.

The Ritalin highs began with Pony's ADHD pills. That's right - the smartest Curtis brother had a mental illness that made it hard to concentrate. He had a mental roadblock ninety-nine percent of the time. Somehow, neither our parents, nor Darry, nor I inherited the fucking thing, but I swear to God Ponyboy is the last person on this Earth that needs another hurdle to jump over.

Darry and I didn't plan to get hooked. It was a simple experiment - maybe we could see if we felt better on the Ritalin, if we got rid of the collective brain fog between us. It was harmless in the beginning. I swear on my Momma's grave that none of our addiction was anticipated, planned, or wanted.

But here we are, stealing them in the middle of the night, sneaking into the backyard to pop them like they were candy. There were nights where we'd fall asleep out there, the Tulsa night turning us to ice, but our bodies burning from the inside out. The world was a kaleidoscope of color, of fake dopamine, of imaginary people and imaginary feelings.

I've often never felt good enough for the world; for my brothers. And I know both of them know that because I've told 'em what feels like their whole lives. They insist I'm good enough for the world, that without me, they wouldn't be who they are. Without me, they wouldn't know what to do. And while I know that, while I know they're speaking the truth, I can't help but feel like there's a disguise. I can't help but feel that their words aren't genuine, aren't out of love, aren't out of concern.

The addiction starts slow. Just a few pills every few weeks. But then, like druggies and drug test officials will say, it suddenly becomes the only thought in your head. It becomes part of you, pushing a bloodstream through your body; a bloodstream that is only there because of your desire to get high. Dealers become your best friends; drugs become your meals.

Darry doesn't fall into the dealing like I do. He doesn't even get a fix for long - only addicted for a few years. He stops when Pony finally finds out, yells at us until he's blue in the face, cries that he'll leave all over again if we don't cut it out. That was enough for Darry to seize the hold that drugs had on him, to break that bond.

Me? I fall apart, nearly die, but I also find myself being sewn back together through the Ritalin slowing my mind. I find myself shattered but glued together with the money I make from dealing, from pressing, from threatening. I know I'm destroying my body, my heart, my mind, but do I care? Fuck no.

I've never felt more alive in my life.