Small World: Chapter 11

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This chapter will feature a new character named Damon.

Submitted: February 15, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 15, 2015



Damon: Insomnia

I can’t take it anymore. My eyes are bloodshot from the unrelenting, immense amount of pressure that has surged into my temples. I gently place my fingers on my temple to feel the snake-like chord pulsating on the side of my head.

Oh my fucking god, just end it!

For the seventeenth day in a row, I lay awake in my bed with my legs restlessly kicking away uncontrollably. Once again I’ve overindulged on pills; this time the candy for the evening was a small bottle of Benadryl that I found on the floor of my car. It must have been from when I dropped off Hailey; she’s a beautiful girl, but she’s got a bit of a wild side to her, and she’s known to try experimenting with pharmaceuticals. One warm summer evening I saw her drink a bottle of Robitussin to get high off of the dextromethorphan in it. And while she did end up temporarily melting some brain cells and feeling euphoric, she also ended up on the toilet with the Hershey swirls for an hour. It’s more than likely the sorbitol in it that irritated her stomach, but either way I’m fairly certain that ingesting a bottle of cough medicine like a shot of vodka can’t be good for the body.

Oh yeah.

So… back to me.

I’ve slipped and fallen, and I can’t get up.

I have become entranced by escaping reality, pushing my body to its limits, and gaining new perceptions of the world around me. This world is just too ordinary for me to endure, and sometimes I need to just melt into the couch and let all of life’s tribulations drift away…

Medical school is over and I graduated with distinction. It’s been seventeen days since graduation, and I haven’t slept a wink. Is it simply the stress building up that’s causing my inability to put my mind to rest? As I once again initiate my futile attempt to fall asleep by staring at the ceiling, I begin to become dangerously introspective. I repeatedly ask myself questions regarding my laziness:

Why are you so determined to fuck up this good thing that you have worked your entire life for?

Is this really what you want to do?

At first these questions are sufficient to maintain my attention for the first hour into the ominous night, but eventually I start to travel down that dark path I know all too well by pointing fingers at myself, illuminating my own insecurities.


I fear rejection almost as much as I fear not being praised for achieving an accomplished goal for something I sought out to complete. I may look confident as you talk to me, but the entire time that you look at me, I am anxiously analyzing everything you do, everything you say, and the implications of what your body language suggests. After you do this enough it becomes like clockwork: monotonous patterns are identified and associated with body language, and as a result I can perceive what an individual is feeling by the subtleties of their disposition.

First it was MDMA and the occasional hash brownie…then it was the frequent snorting of coke with friends. Things were changing. My entire perception, prioritization, and perspective of myself and everyone else changed in quick succession. In seventeen days I went from occasional binge drinker and pot user, to an out of control drug addict perpetually pursuing his next high. This was my worst fear, and now here I lay for the seventeenth day in a row, staring it in the face, and it’s ugly.

I keep telling myself that I will get out of this funk, and that it doesn’t matter what I do, because when I need to focus and stop I can do that and I won’t be affected.

Well, I’m stupid.

And I’m wrong.

If it were that easy, there wouldn’t be so many people who spend their lives paying for their addictions both physically and mentally. I used to do everything in my power to avoid becoming addicted to anything, as I learned from watching my best friends’ family that addiction to drugs will inevitably lead to one’s demise. My friends’ parents were alcoholics and used to fight all the time both physically and verbally. Not a pretty scene to see as a nine year old kid.

Addiction to me was the ultimate dream wrecker, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

I mean come on! I aspire to be a doctor; I can’t be fucking around with these kinds of things! I need to focus!

Everyday it runs through my mind again and again like a classic song on an old record player: my dad screaming in rage at my brother for him being caught smoking weed at school.

In my room I could hear his bark projecting through the vent in my brother’s room to mine: “It will ruin everything you’ve been working hard for. One puff will change your life forever. Why take the risk of trying it when you’ve come so far without it? Son, if I could give you any advice at all, it would be to make sure that you don’t go playing Russian roulette with your future. How could you possibly become a lawyer if you fail to obey the law?”

I think to myself: “Hmmm…if you smoke pot you will destroy all of your dreams.”

Sound like some kind of a rage ad against weed? It’s funny because I know that my brother was never even really interested in weed and was just experimenting, but after that talk from dad he changed. He wanted to do anything and everything he could to rebel against him! To this day I still believe that dad had a significant negative impact on my brother, and that in some ways his persistent authoritative, obstinate ways are what led to his overdose.

The thought of my brother’s untimely death pains me as I shut my eyes hard and try to force my body to go into hibernation mode, but it just won’t happen. My extremities continue to twitch uncontrollably. The nerves in my legs are irritated by the erratic pulsating shocks that are sent first through my calves, then into the backs of the knees. I sit up in bed and slowly shift my body to the side of the bed where my feet are placed on the cold hardwood floor. The house I live in is old and poorly insulated, and the wind coming through the cracks of the house feels oddly refreshing for my chemically induced, irritated body. I grab the glass next to the bed with water in it. I put the glass to my lips to taste warm, stale water. I stand up, glass in hand, and head towards the washroom adjacent to my room. I turn on the light and immediately my eyes are filled with a sharp pain, as they have become incredibly sensitive to light as a reaction to the drugs synchronized with the need for my eyes to adapt from the comfortable recesses of the darkness.  As I squint, I look into the mirror and try to focus. After a few seconds of rubbing my eyes and staring into the mirror, I realize how bad I look. I am naked, and I can see that my body looks starved of nutrients. I look malnourished; my skin looks pale, and under my eyes are large purple puffs of colour on quite tired looking skin. In my professional opinion as a very recent graduate of medical school, I’d say that I’m not looking too hot!

I turn the tap far to the right ensuring that the coldest water comes out, then I let the water flow through my fingers for a minute before I immerse my face in the icy cool pools of liquid forming in my hands. I can feel the blood hurriedly flowing to my face, trying to preserve my body temperature. I then place my glass under the tap, fill it, and begin to slowly tip back the entire glass. My mouth is pasty, and it feels like I just ate a bottle of white glue. I take my last gulp in my mouth and swish it around continually until my entire mouth has regained its moisture. After I finish the water, I further examine my physical manifestations in the fingertip smudged and toothpaste-splashed reflection.

Life is tough. Everyday of our waking lives we protect our image and we protect the notion of who we think we are, but we don’t even know. We compulsively lie to ourselves about who we are, and what we think other people think of us. Reality is harsh, and in preparation for this cruel world it is sometimes better to learn by experience. No one else knows, and no one else needs to know. I need to fix this for me, not for anyone else. I need to do whatever it takes to re-ignite my passion and determination to work hard and succeed!

I have all the tools in place to succeed, but right now I find myself teetering on the tightrope of treachery, inevitably waiting to fall to my demise and fail. 

© Copyright 2020 shagen91. All rights reserved.

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