fixing this impossibility

I haven't been taking my medication, choosing instead to believe fairytales of miraculous recovery. I swing through stages of happiness; everything is okay now. I am better. I was fooling myself all along.

Then, suddenly, destruction. Crushed in catastrophe, I rush back the other way. Suicidal tendencies resurface, drug use escalates. I know it makes it worse. How else do I deal with this shit? My mind is a mess.

My sister cut at me the other day. My wire bones and twine sinews shuddered: "How come you never smile anymore?" Then, my mother: "Even your grandmother noticed how unhealthy you've been looking lately." My ex-best friend: "Don't call me when you hit rock bottom. I've learned a lot from you. How to let yourself go, how to lose all respect for yourself."

I am a drain on society. I hurt my friends and family to the point where I sometimes wonder if it would be better that I just leave. Let them be safe from my masochism and their worry and fears for my future. I need to figure myself out, fix this, but the deathly quicksand of bad choices is much too tantalizing. I've gone too far into this fog; I don't know if I can (want to) find my way out.

suicide?

Why, oh, why do I do this to myself? Inhaling chemicals, curling smoke drifting through my veins. Headrush, dizziness. It's unpleasant, but I need it. Or do I? I've been questioning my motives, lately. The sensation is not what drives me; it's repelling, in fact. I think I just love that feeling of secretiveness. I can't show anyone. This is not what they would expect of me. I love that feeling of burning lungs, damaged tissues, pain when you draw in breath. It's comforting. I love that feeling of lifting that cancer stick to your mouth and breathing in, finally something real to focus on, something else to shut out the world. I hope I can keep this manageable.

A week, and a few days extra, without. Bad cravings, at first. It wasn't by choice; I had no way of purchasing those deadly boxes. Chainsmoking the previous weekend, the stark days of emptiness struck me as being absurdly difficult to manage. I craved cigarettes. At the end of the week, I was fine. No urges, nothing too harsh, anyway. But today I finally had my opportunity; hesitant questions, cash passed from hand to hand. Inhale. Yes. God, yes.

I had to sit down; the dizziness was overpowering. Is this normal? How can I crave something that has the power to make me feel so awful? Wobbly, weaving.

I must be insane. Looks like she was right.