"Fuck." I sigh into the phone, "Sorry, that's because we can't get any coke. That 'fuck.'" Our conversation ends, we'll meet at the grocery store to get food. Now that we're not powered by chemicals I have to cook and eat. I hate food because I love it so fucking much. It reminds me constantly that I will never be thin without the help of drugs to surpress my appetite--never again at least.
The overhead fixture spills dirty yellow light across the bunny and I, and the rest of the living room. I try to keep positive, but all I want is cocaine. I've made up my mind. I want it now NOW NOW NOW NOWNOW.
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R's out to go get money for a gram. I need someone to hold me accountable. Someone that actually will tell me no (aka not my parents or R or myself), that will give me a reason not to. My desire for coke was stronger than my guilt over being a horrible daughter. One thing I keep thinking is, "my parents are going to sure wish they had sent me to rehab when I was 16." Now that I'm an adult, it's a lot harder to do shit about my behavior--and they're the only ones who give a shit, since I don't.
Now all there is left to do is wait, for R to return, for the dude to respond, for me to get high.
Terrible terrible Tuesdays...
-Lucy
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