I woke up like I did every morning. The pores on my skin crying rivers to me for all of the vandalism I put in my body. The nausea in my stomach for all of my unsettling actions. I try to rush to the bathroom to ***** out the rest of the remains, but nothing comes out. Nothing at all. I feel nothing at all.

There’s always been this void inside of me. I tried to distract with the devil himself: drugs. I remember smoking **** in the sixth grade, and telling myself this was the only drug I would ever do. By the time I was fifteen, I had more ******* in my system than I did dopamine. Months went along where I was covering my problems playing in a field full of snow, but it never gave me the justice of feeling whole.

Substance after substance, I failed every time to fill the emptiness gouging inside of my chest. The only thing I experienced out of this catastrophic path was drug addiction. I’d say it was the drugs that made me numb, but I’d been living lifeless beforehand. The drugs were never enough, but this realization never stopped me from going.

I was so tired of living in an infinite nighttime, that I drowned my sorrows with pills this night. I never gave myself the chance to wake up and see the morning sun. Not even death could separate me from my addiction: Filling the Void.