A is for Addiction

A was for addiction that ate at him, riddled his body like a disease.

He'd seen it eat at his father in the same way- he knew he needed help but the pride was too hefty a payment to give for someone as sophisticated and evolved as him.

Now, seeing himself in a mirror, a pasty shade of grey with red rimmed eyes and bruised arms from the times he'd stabbed himself, from the joy he needed, a joy no one would understand, could possibly understand, would never understand-...Now, seeing himself in this same way...all he saw was his father.

B was for beauty, a world so void of it that he'd turned to this.

Beauty was something he'd sought for in a drug-induced dream land, among the perfectly round puffs of cream clouds and cherry sunsets. Something so precious to him, he refused to give it up because he needed it. Didn't they understand? He needed it. It wasn't his desire or pleasure or poison. Though it killed him with every dose, he needed it like the oxygen he breathed that rusted his internal organs.

C was for charm which he hid behind every time he felt guilty or wrong.

He went straight to the drugs where he'd be led on a journey of self-hate in the darkness of his bedroom, behind a veil he'd created with a little magical charm. Where he could openly cry and moan and feel pity for himself by sticking that needle in his vein or anywhere his hand landed, because no one else would possibly feel sorry for him if he didn't do it for himself. Everyone saw a deep hole of darkness in him that he only ever felt. No matter how many times he searched in a mirror for that black hole, he only ever felt it eating at his soul. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the devil.

D was for drugs which became more than a release.

It became his release, his pick-me-up, his punisher, his reward, his vice, his secret. It made him feel good, it made him feel guilt. It was his punisher when he felt guilty or wrong or hatred burning in his soul- it didn't serve as a release at these times, it taught him a lesson.

It was his reward when he thought he deserved a moment of peace, of pleasure, of happiness, to indulge in something no one else possibly could. It was more than anything, his secret.

E was for everyone, which was who found out his greatest secret.

And when everyone found out, it was gone within an instant. His door to the universe was taken from him, his only happiness, his only joy, his only escape, his only friend, his only parent, his only lover.

A is for addiction, which still eats at him in the night, creating a burning in his head, a yearning in his soul for his one true mate.

A is for adultery which he takes in large hot doses in obsessive impulse, which his therapist still calls addiction.

A is for alcoholism when he goes out on long binges, his family begging for him to come home... which is still an addiction.

A is for antidepressants which his therapist wont give to him because following his history, he'd probably become addicted.

A is for antisocial, which was never him but has consumed him in so many hopeless, lonely, pitiful ways.

A is for anyone, who he wished could understand him and understand the addiction, understand a disease that so many laughed in the face of.

A is for addiction.

Something he'll always be "recovering from" and lie about, something that'll never leave him, something he wishes could become separate from him but never will.

Because it'll always own a piece of his soul.

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