By Giulia Nicosia

Giulia spoke to a friend about the rawness of addiction. In a re-telling of this account, she writes about the struggles one faces when coming to terms with the difficulties they have experienced.


I have been meaning to write this down for quite a while now but I couldn’t find the right words, not that I’ve found them now, but I do think I deserve an explanation. Time might be running out. So here I am, paper and pen, sitting at a coffee bar ready to deal with myself.


I’d be lying if I said I’m not dying to buy a drink, but I’ve been good for too long to mess everything up. Sometimes I think that I’ve forgotten what an old scotch tastes like. It’s funny to think, but I wonder if it’d be possible for my taste buds to preserve that sharp essence. I bet it would be nice to regurgitate it anytime I felt like it.


Did I really think that staying away from the booze would do the trick? It’s ingrained in me. I laugh when I stare back at myself in front of the mirror and at times I try to imitate what I must have looked like; my eyes wide open, crisp, scared, staring at the nothingness while my mouth was jumping up and down, fighting to hold back what I could never express in words. Maybe I meant that I’m scared now. I’ve asked myself repeatedly why I’m not able to stop. I blame my weakness. Just like chainsmokers do, I know this stuff is bad but my body seems to be built for it, as if it were its sole purpose since birth. It becomes inevitable fuel for my engine, it drives me absolutely mad and keeps me sane all at the same time. It makes me desperate for eternal life and makes me hungry, insatiable. It creeps up on me just like a depressed person manages to emit an aura of darkness even in the brightest of rooms.


Of course I remember my first time: man that shit was crazy! I was so young. I thought I was going to die. I’d pay billions to catapult myself back in time and be a front row spectator to the spectacle I must have given. It felt as if I was the earthquake in my own self, shaking things up from the inside out. My eyes bulged out of their sockets and my heart sat on a bench right in front of me, staring at me, whilst my brain made-believe that everything was suddenly perfectly explainable in a beautifully coloured dreamworld.


Maybe I should hide my feelings and lie through my teeth while I apologetically stare at my feet and whisper: I’m sorry, I’ve hated it all. But I won’t. I won’t because I loved every second of it. It wouldn’t feel right to deny how good I felt when every inch of me was buzzing to the rush of adrenaline in my veins, pushing my body far, too far even though I always managed my way back.


And I guess I’m thankful for that. I’m grateful for my body’s ability to fight towards the light when my brain seemed to be floating, blinded in a pond of bright white while in reality it drowned, sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss of black. I wish I would have carried a small mirror, so I could pop it out of my bag and stare at my reflection when I was tripping out of my fucking mind, when the colours seemed to intensify by the second, the music seemed to pump in my veins replacing the overflowing amount of blood rushing to the extremities of my body. My body seemed to have a life of its own, so detached but at the same time so coordinated with my inexistent train of thought. My heart exploding out of my chest, hyperventilating, sweating as if I were a fountain with a broken tap, shivering. NO, shaking. My mouth filling with this weird foamy stuff, convulsing, and my brain…


My brain is always a different story. It was flying high in a joyful state of peace, a rush of climactic emotions, a parallel universe filled with dopamine pills and high serotonin levels. A world in which nothing could have ever bothered me; not my aching heart, not the thought of my mom, and not even the awareness of my body slowly drifting away. I’d imagine that staring in the reality of that reflection would make me want to stop.  


Instead, I think I’ve gone too far this time. Everybody looks so concerned, but I’m doing fine. My body just needs to stop shivering so maybe they’ll all smile. I keep telling myself to wake up, breathe again, get that heart to pump blood once more, make those annoying machine-like beeps sound like music to my ears so I can start dancing again. Go on, just get up! I’ve got so much more to do, to see and be. I lie and promise I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl this time, I swear I’ll take care of myself.


Why am I so scared of coming back? My mouth has never looked this bad, I think I’m about to puke, I’m shivering like never before, my skin is turning cold, my eyes are frozen, I almost can’t hear the music anymore, I can’t make any sense out of this, it’s all happening so fast. It’s not fun now, my brain feels empty, drowning in a dark world. I feel so cold and lonely in a world I thought I could bare. I can’t think anymore, I’m shutting down, I lose touch with my body, it’s almost gone and there’s nothing left as I’m losing my way back because as much as I’ve claimed to love myself, I know my body deserves a rest.



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