To not sleep on a night where you DEFINITELY need the rest....to stay in the bed for a night at random of a man you feel some sort of desire for but in a way that is unidentified-- nothing sexual, nothing romantic-- just comfort....and regardless of the snoring, and a threat to go sleep on the couch, with just one " no please stay with me" you sacrifice that needed night of rest only to realize it was the best sacrifice you've ever made in yours (and their) entire life. Why on this night would i be with someone i constantly question my fate of association with . Is it destiny? And in what ways will my future actions be affected by this?
If i had not woken up after my 20 minute snooze at 7:30 am he would have died right there next to me. Another young case of a narcotics overdose. Oxycontin 80s and xanax. A terrible mix that an addict can't resist. Though I would never get cought in the mix of those, i was caught in the mix of his own problems and his own intuition. This is where i start to beleive that everything does happen for a reason and perhaps destiny is real. Don't get me wrong, i've always been a firm believer of the two, but to have moving episodes defining them right in front of my very face is something that i can't explain in words what kind of feeling it brings.
I feel a barricade appear in front of my heart everytime i hear someone say " you saved him" or when the two words fall right out of the mouth of his breathing, living self, "thank you". To be the reason a mother still has her only son and a sister still has her only brother, why dont i feel that great about it? I can't be praised for it. There's some kind of guilt that lies beneath the deed. I wonder if its becuase i was the reason he even said " fuck it" and did it up right there in front of me. We were bored. We wanted to have a good time. But i warned him not to over do it and was also totally unaware of his previous intake of Xanax earlier in the evening. I guess maybe he forgot too since it seemed to be a daily routine for him. After that, an ounce of purple syrup, a few shots of whiskey, and about 10 beers, why would one of the stongest pills seem even SLIGHTLY appealing to someone even with an addiction. To me, thats death written all over. To him, its like his words, "fuck it." I told him so and recall saying "people forget to breathe when they do too much of this stuff. you don't want to die." And as we both look back and remember together, the title " angel " falls upon me in his thoughts. But why don't i feel like such an angel. Maybe this is a turning point in my life as well where something so traumatic changes me for the better. Was this a wake up call for him?
...Or for me?
Perhaps both...? But how will we ever know.
I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
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