When I was younger, I learned that life came with sharp surprises, cold hearts and lots of lost love. I also learned that it comes with sweet distractions and doors marked escape. Those doors were painted in such bright colors, how could I have said no? I couldn’t have. I didn’t.
I loved what was behind the doors. I was so consumed by it, it became my entire identity. It helped me not to think. It helped me not to feel. Oh, how it helped. All the bad things that used to drown me were now just a shadow, just a memory. I didn’t feel anything anymore.
One day I awoke to find out my best friend got into a college she always wanted to. And I felt nothing. My sister brought home her first boyfriend. I felt nothing. I got published for the first time. Nothing. It was then I realized: I am a shell.
All the fullness I once had was sucked out of me by addiction’s sweet and hungry lips. It left me pretty on the outside, seemingly full, but completely empty and hollow on the inside. Still, I had everybody fooled. After all, I was such a pretty shell.
It was my time of sleepwalking. Of lying to the ones I love most and throwing poisonous words at the feet of those that taught me how to speak. It was my time of drowning, thinking I was swimming. Time of being dead, while alive.
I can’t possibly write about my addiction, even now.
Perhaps she never really left. Perhaps, I am afraid to visit her because I worry she’ll want to return home with me. I think we both get homesick for each other, sometimes. I know I miss every single illusion she gifted me with. I miss the control. I miss not having to deal with the real world. See what happens when I write about her?
I start missing her.
I start reminiscing.
For the life of me, I can’t afford to do that.
For the life … of me.
Bio: Luna C. Lupus is a free spirit that refuses to fit into any mold, an infinite dog lover and a very passionate writer. She recently self-published a collection of six word stories titled She Wrote To Mend Her Heart. Find out more about her here.