Cocaine

You’re fucking ruining our lives. 

But I refuse to let you ruin mine. 

No amount of therapy or advice from friends takes away the fear. 

The fear where I go to bed every night and wake up every morning wondering if there will be a call that whispers you’re dead. 

Any call or text from mom I brace myself and say: what if this is it? The one? The one where I’m left alone in this world and without my only blood?

I remember when they told me it was drugs. 

Drugs are drugs. 

Right?

Until it’s Ccocaine and Molly and pot and alcohol and Rx drugs. 

But mostly cocaine. 

Then you’ll end up like fucking Whitney Houston. 

That’s all my mind can imagine. 

I’ve seen you under the influence but didn’t know what exactly was going on. 

Now I know. 

And it hurts. 

Like fucking hell. 

I can’t save you. 

If I could, I would. 

I can’t get you help. 

You have to want that on your own. 

And there isn’t a drug in the world I want in my body but I’d give anything to not feel any of this. 

It hurts. 
You’re not the one getting 4 am texts from strangers and former classmates who want me to check in on you when I'm hours, sometimes days, away.

I couldn't save you in time if time were an issue.
And no one wants to talk about this but me.
Fuck that. 

I will talk.

You’re not me and you’re not my shame. 

I will announce to the world what I have to so there is no questioning. 

There are no answers right now. 

But why do I have to live in a world where I worry about you?

Why did I wake up on a weekend day in March only to have my world shattered by your life altering choices?