He could feel it coming over him. His father knew the signs. “Not that again. You can’t do that again”. He had time to kill. He had a lot of time. It was depressing but his decision seemed necessary. His mates knew he needed drugs to dull the pain. They were willing to sell them cheap.
Mum had gone a while ago. Heal the pain. She now felt no pain. Heal the pain. He rang his mate and arranged it all. Heal the pain. It was just an escape. Escape the pain. He lost his job. Escape the pain. His veins were strong but for how long? He wanted an escape. His father knew it was his choice. ” If you are gonna do that you can leave. I can’t have you around off your face.” He would prefer to live on the streets than have his father’s judgement. Live in a tiny Bachelor flat with the other junkies. No tomorrow no shame heal the pain. There is no healing down that path. You avoid the pain but it creeps up on you. Your nose runs. A small burst of anger. An escape. It just gets worse. You sell everything you own until it’s just you and the pain. The prescription opioids were better, straight from Afghanistan. Monitored by the military. Sent legally. It is basically the same stuff. Worth going to war for. A never ending war within yourself. There is no escape. Not until the pain stops for good.