The bleak bubblegum numbness. They call this stage depersonalization. I love the way it feels. I am no longer me but I am watching my movie. I’m sitting in my chair smoking my cigarette and my eyes and the camera pan back and forth across the lawn. I see dog’s chasing kids and kids chasing balls and balls chasing cars and cars chasing dreams and dreams chasing reality. It’s always that complicated with me. So I speak in tongues, now that I am removed. The inner-dialogue has been replaced by a hum. It’s high in my mind, yet constant and incessant. It’s like listening to an egg fry. Here I am. Sitting and waiting for anything to happen. Getting fatter. This is who I am now. A huge hole in my life, I let the smoke burn my lungs and slow expel it from my mouth, the smoke curling upwards in spiraling question marks that seem to mock my state of mind. What? What are you doing? I can’t even concentrate enough to speak, when I do the words are convoluted. I love it and want to do it some more. I tear out the tobacco of a cigarette, stuff the sticky green goodness into the paper, twist off the end and light it. I’m smoking it and it stinks, like it’s supposed too. I feel the smoke, velvety and heavy as it rolls down my throat into my lungs and back out again, escaping quickly from my lips. I press my lips tight and the smoke fans out, filling the air with grey mist. My eyes are burning, but I’m buzzed. I’m not thinking at all, I’m rubbing my eye and watching tv. I sit there. I’m waiting for the sun to set. It sets and now it’s dark. I’m ready for my regularly scheduled program. I’m not me anymore. I want to be so high I can’t see, but this weed is shitty and it doesn’t take me very far. Beep Beep, Beep Beep. I’ve seen this commercial a thousand times, who could this be? A message for me? “I’m going to sleep,” I’m disappointed to see, my girl, she’s ditched me. Poor, pitiful me, I used to get out and drive, look at the sky at night, but now that I’ve died and lost the will to try, all I want to do is get high.
So I’m back again, way to soon. I need more smoke, I need to feel nothing like what I feel like. I should feel bad, she left me, I’m alone, my friends are all gone, I’ve got to grow up, I’m going to throw up. Wait, the cigarettes lit and it’s burning my sky, I take a long hard drag and as it burns into my body I snort, smoke exits my nose promptly and my eyes water. I need real air and suck in a bit too hard. I suck in the cigarette, it sears the back of my throat. I can feel it in there, stuck, still burning, smoking is coming out of my mouth and I can taste burned flesh and blood. I freeze but it hurts so bad that I swallow and it burns. I start coughing blood, it’s practically flowing out of my mouth. I fall on the floor, I cough up the joint and it’s still lit somehow. I’m coughing blood and I don’t care, I’m so high. I lay on the floor, blood still oozing, I decide to take another hit. I pick up the roach, wipe it off, put it to my bloody lips and with my bloody hands I shakily light the tip. I suck in, swallowing spit and blood and sweet smoke. Marijuana. THC. I medicated myself straight to death. But it didn’t matter, because I was high, I was happy.

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