SleepMature

Damien

I want to go home. Just make it stop. Please let me get out of here. Something, anything but this.

The sedation hasn't really done anything for me. All it's really done to me is limit my ability to do anything. I'm only really capable of lying here, being fucking miserable. And now because they've sedated me, they have to wait til that wears off a bit more before they can give me any methadone. What was the point? Why bother? They could have just given me the fucking methadone and left it at that.

But no, the world doesn't work like that, and now I have to sit here, feeling like shit, listening to my mom sniffling all over the place and trying to talk to me. Don't do that, mom. I can't help it, I can't do anything. I can't seem to move my head back so that I'm looking at the ceiling again, and I'm stuck looking at her, looking at what I'm doing to her.

When I blink, I feel like I'm drowning in the temporary dark. If I keep my eyes closed, I feel like I'm floating away, drifting off somewhere better. But I'm not. I just go round in circles in my head, going over everything that I've ever done wrong. From that time I stole a bunch of sugar cubes and hid them in my room when I was a kid, to the time a few weeks ago when I tried to steal a few lines of coke from my dealer and nearly got myself hospitalised. Everything. It's all I can do. Torturing myself is all I can do like this.

"Go to sleep, honey," mom says quietly, stroking my cheek softly, "go to sleep and you'll get your methadone quicker, yeah?" she gives me this shaky smile that I can't help but feel bad about. I stare at her blankly. I don't want to sleep. It seems inevitable, but I fight it for as long as I can.

"I dun wanna sleep," I whisper, but I don't think she hears me. No one ever hears. No one ever listens. 

 

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