20 miles

I’m 20 miles from your house, 20 miles from where you now live, and not very many more from where you lived when you first stuck a needle in my arm. I’ve not been any where near you for the past five months, not since you cut me off with a swipe of a finger on your phone.

You cut me off in an instant when my world finally fell apart completely, when I thought I needed you the most. You cut me off in the very moment when I first begged for help, when I needed you to try and stop me crashing my car at 125mph, and when you didn’t, I needed you to try and stop me from pushing yet another syringe into my arm, a syringe full of a massive overdose of ketamine. All I needed was you to fulfil your promise to stand by me.

You couldn’t cope with the responsibility you felt for what was happening to me, maybe it overwhelmed you and your head couldn’t deal with it? Maybe you just didn’t care?

I couldn’t cope with what was happening to me, but you abandoning me made it so many times worse. I was finding it so hard to deal with the emotions of the trauma I was going through, to have to do it without you seemed like an impossible task. You were the only one who knew what it was like to go through what I was, you’d already done it, with my support. I supported you through months of turmoil, months of heartache, fear, and tears, you left me to face the same thing without you.

Because of you, and because of drugs, my life was unravelling in front of my eyes and you stayed 120 miles away and kept silent, purely because it was the easy thing for you to do.

Now you are 20 miles away, but it may as well be a thousand. You’re no longer in my life, and neither are the drugs, and despite all the pain, all my destructive actions of the past months, my life is better now, it’s so much better than when you and they had such a hold over me.

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