Demon Inside – by ROB TRUE

Demon inside

 

 

Here I sit, sick again, looking down at my ravished flesh.

Bruised, bloody and swollen. Broken veins and scars of old

abscesses.

Trousers round my ankles, looking for a vein as I shiver and

cough. Claret all down me from failed attempts, my veins are all

fucked, useless.

I’ve been sitting here half an hour now, sweating, sneezing, the

bile rising in my throat, stomach cramped up and so fucking

cold, so hot, feverish.

A stinging tear rolls down my cheek (don’t get many of them). I

realize how fucking pathetic I am.

A man no more, never have been, I entered adulthood in this

god forsaken, yet heavenly trance.

Not even half a man. A ghost. A ghost of myself, haunting this

place.

A half arsed attempt at pretending some sort of normal. I’m

trying to live like a normal human since I pulled my self

together. Even though I use huge amounts of heroin and I am a

drug dealer, which between the two take up most of my day.

In between shooting up, laying barely conscious and dropping

off gear to other desperate cunts, I pretend to live some sort of normal, whatever that is. A normal drug addict? A normal criminal? A normal lunatic?

I am fucking ghost. Undead, a zombie with a demon inside.

Yes, a demon! And that is why I feel so pathetic. I just realized

I’m a fucking slave. A slave to this demon inside.

All my life I rebelled. Against parents, teachers, the law, all

those brainwashed, unquestioning, mindless pricks who lied so

much to me growing up.

I didn’t believe a word of it, still don’t. Fuck off and my middle

finger to every one of them.

What a rebel! What a wanker!

Look at me now, a slave to an invisible demon, a bit of brown

powder. I’m looking out these same eyes, but from a long way

back. I ain’t in charge. No, I’ve got to feed the demon and my body’s just the vehicle. That’s how I’m looking at my arms and legs right now. Just tools to feed this bastard demon.

My sole purpose, to acquire brown powder, melt it into water and inject it. To feed my demon.

The demon hands hold my heart in frozen time of no feelings,

no sadness, no joy. I am controlled by this entity. I have no

choices.

It’s funny though. I’ve loved this gear for years now, always

seen it as my savior from an unbearable madness, that consumed me before.

But in this moment I have realized. My heart is sunk, my illusion shattered and I’m in a dark hole.

But eventually, after I dig around a while in broken skin, I find that vein after clogging up the needle twice with congealed blood and having to put it in a new syringe.

And I shoot home to peace and comfort, ah that’s better.

It hits me in the back of my head, the warmth spreading, like

bliss.

A little dose of heaven, it feels like God is giving me a

cuddle. Nothing fucking matters. Free from pain, I smoke a cigarette and lie back.

Some time passes by and there’s a knock at the door.

Fucking hell, I just want peace. I just want to be left alone to float around

inside with my demon.

It’s an old friend. I let him in,

“Sit down, make yourself at home. I’m ganna lie down for an

hour and then we can talk.”

How fucking rude, but I don’t care. This quiet in my mind is

what it’s all about for me, nothing else matters.

This is the day I realize. The day that I know I’m going to stop.

I never really wanted to stop before. Tried to a few times, but

didn’t really want to. But now, now I know that I am a slave and

that just don’t seem right to me.

I’m not that weak. I remember my inner strength. I’ve survived

things that most people don’t, against all odds, mind over

matter.

In fact, I am powerful, in my own way.

More powerful than a bit of fuckin’ brown powder.

More powerful than this demon!

I’m in here somewhere. Somewhere deep inside this wrecked

body it’s still me.

I decide that I have had enough. I’m going to get clean, change

my life. But not yet.

I don’t know this now but it will be more than a year before I

rediscover my power and defeat this demon.

I’m not ready.

Not yet.

***

IMAG1850 (2)

***Rob True was born in London 1971. He left school with no qualifications, dyslexic and mad, in a world he didn’t fit into. He got lost in an abyss, was sectioned twice and spent the best part of a decade on another planet. He returned to earth just in time for the new millennium, found a way to get on in life, married a beautiful girl and lived happily ever after. She taught him how to use paragraphs and punctuation and his writing has been a bit better ever since. Find him on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/robjtrue  ***

 

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. gene farmer says:

    Down and (not quite) out around North London’s dirty rim. I love stories that bring an individual’s self realization into sharp focus, and this does it with authentic voice and weight.

    For some reason I could smell bacon while I read it.

    Like

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