When I was 16 I met and fell in love with Ryan. He looked and acted like he was 30, but we were the same age. He had a dark beautiful cloud around him. I had been depressed since I was 11 due to my mom stealing my sister and I in the middle of the night to move us halfway across the country, because she had cheated on my dad. She hated the suburbs and materialism. She ripped my sister and I out of a normal, safe life and moved us into a run down farm house in the middle of nowhere. I rebelled, my dad was gone, my mom was depressed, we were poor. I started experimenting with drugs. I latched on to Ryan. He listened to beautiful sad music. He was smart, but came from an abusive father. We ran in the same circle- we were best friends until one night he held my hand and looked in my eyes intensely. I don’t know why, but I turned him away. He chose another girl and stopped talking to me. I abused myself. I put myself in horrible situations and took drugs and drank to punish myself for losing him. We graduated high school and I didn’t see him for about three years.

He worked at the college I attended, in the cafeteria. Our feelings rekindled and we started dating. He had back surgery about a year into us dating and was prescribed a lot of pain medication that he shared with me. After the pain meds were no longer prescribed we moved on to morphine and heroin. Our friend’s mom had passed from cancer and was our connection. I spent two weeks snorting heroin. The rush was intense, but honestly it felt like I was half dead. My face was white as a ghost and I would often wake up to a room with the lights/tv/fan on, not realizing I had passed out. It only took me two weeks to figure out that if I kept doing this, I was going to die.

I broke up with Ryan. I kept telling him not to mess around with heroin. Six months later I found out he had OD’d. I never have known anyone who died. I went to his funeral and a lady blamed his death on the devil. I would have dreams where he didn’t know he was dead. Life goes on. I went to therapists who never really did much to help me. I’ve been on and off meds since I was 15. I never did heroin again, but I never could shake substance abuse. I overthink and can’t sleep. I drink and take Xanax. I know I shouldn’t and I try not to.

I fee like I romanticize death. I lack life. Its hard for me to let go of death. The other night I almost passed out from taking pills and drinking. My family doesn’t know. I should probably go to rehab? I don’t know what to do. I’m 30, I look like I have my shit together, but this is the truth.