I'm Just Tired

I am tired. Not just physically, though. I am completely and totally exhausted. The never-ending late nights containing minimal sleep are not a foreign scene, and I doubt they will soon fade away. The purplish bags sagging deep beneath my eyes have been designed specifically to carry the burden of my existence, and my every thought makes sure to tell me loud and clear. I have found that the only things that help me these days are the herb to capture every thought, and the shimmery liquid called alcohol.
I don’t want to think anymore, and I crave the feeling of that fuzzy sensation crawling across my body as the marijuana’s essence seeps into my lungs. I want to allow my vision to become a haze while I exhale a plume of smoke, leaving an aftertaste like none other. Just a little bit, and everything will be okay. The voices pounding within my head, constantly screaming at me will finally come to a halt, and reality can take a rest. I want to allow the music playing in the background to no longer make any sense as the words infiltrate my ear, only to pour out the other. I crave the feeling as the melody ebbs and flows through the speakers, finding the cavern that is my mind to gather within.
What if I took a different approach, though? I could down bottle after bottle of liquor while a sense of relief takes refuge at last. As much as I don’t want to, I need the utterly bitter taste burning down my throat as I take yet another sip. I need to feel the warmth spreading through my veins, taking hold in every part of my body. Just a bit, and the voices will finally stop screaming. I need the tight feeling in my chest as I try to breathe after drinking myself into a pit. I don’t want to climb out of this pit yet, though. I enjoy the idea of seeing myself in this state. To find myself lying on the floor, incapable of speech as I sob into the endless void.
So after hours on end of my own thoughts screaming and attacking me, I do the only thing I can think of to feel better. I down another shot or I suck in another cloud of marijuana. At least then, I can be at peace, not only with others, but with myself.
Nobody else will ever know about my state. I refuse to let them see how truly devolved I have become. I am the person you come to when you are struggling, and I always know what to do. But from time to time, there will be the inevitable question asked by somebody: “Hey, are you doing okay?” Yet no matter how much I want to say otherwise, all I can manage is “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired.”