Drown

You know what the toughest thing about relapse is?

It's that you're never prepared for it. That's what makes it so terrifying - you're doing fine for a few months now, and even managed to control yourself when your hands got itchy and tingly a few days back (good for you!) - and then it hits you out of nowhere leaving you scrabbling to pick up whatever pieces of you you possibly can. It punches you in the gut, swift and hard and true, and leaves you trying to hold yourself together, unable to think or speak let alone breathe, and trying your hardest not to think about that emergency stash you've got somewhere in your room.

It's not the same feeling as an itch, which can be easily brought to heel using those coping techniques you always read about - no, this thing is bigger, stronger and much deadlier. This thing is you crying as you try to force yourself to sleep, telling yourself that as long as you can get through tonight then the hardest part of trying to resist falling back to old habits is over. This thing is you playing your music as loudly as you can, trying to ignore the shiny silvery voices that call to you, straining to be heard over the racket you've got going on in your earphones. Even now, you can still hear them.

But you tell yourself over and over again - you whisper it to yourself like a mantra, the same way someone offers a drowning man a lifesaver because the way you're hugging yourself is similar to how someone tries so desperately not to give in to the currents so lovingly caressing their legs, tries to ignore the crooning of the waves - you'll be okay as long as you get through tonight.

You try not to notice the way the waves steadily wash over your head.