Жълти стъкла (Ели Урумова)- Отвъд
и протягам ръка, а те няма... няма там.
I don’t love death, I like the comfort it brings.
It may sound weird, but an addict is in a twisted way a control freak. My personal brand is “it can’t hurt me if I turn it into a part of myself” - I did that with being sexualised, having an enormous ego/being perceived as an idol, being queer, being autistic, and mostly death. All my life. Drugs were that too, except I got the part of myself I couldn’t control - my emotions - out of myself and packed them into capsules, liquids, powders that I could physically control when an how much I take. A sort of alchemy, art : amphetamine for euphoria/ dopamine, pregabalin for being normal and functional, heroin for calm and sleep and licking my wounds, MDMA for love, ketamine for when I wanted to rot and disappear. An addict is a control freak. And death specifically I made an altar for in my brain, my every move was influenced by her and was executed towards her, my active use was nothing but self-harm - that’s why my whole body’s full of cutting scars, epidermis deep. My therapist said when you’re traumatized you seek comfort in the worst times of your life because that’s the most familiar thing, like people search for consolidation in daydreams about their childhood - i search for that in death. It’s so … at home. Whatever happens I can always die. A mantra since I got PTSD at 16: whatever they do to me, I can always die. That’s why when my friends started overdosing and committing suicide, Omori first when I was 19, my first thought was always “good for them, they finished their job on earth or else god wouldn’t let them die” and only then did the real grief come. A survival mechanism. Death can’t hurt me if she knows I love her. Death is not a punishment if I model my brain to seek it anyway. That’s why rehab’s attempt into making my core belief “if I do drugs I die” doesn’t work on me: that’s fine on my part. What worked was “if I do drugs I die, and if I die I hurt my beloved like my dead twin souls hurt me” cause I care more about oneness and connection and feeling seen and understood than I care about whether I live. I have a responsibility towards those I’ve given twinship and soul recognition to: I have to stay so they don’t develop my complex of “I am unlovable because every time somebody loves me, they die” and with having addicts as friends that’s super easy to develop: in 10 years of active addiction I’ve lost 6-7-8 friends below the age of 40 and numerous relatives to addiction and suicide, at some point you get grimly used to it, and it’s easy to start seeing patterns. Everyone that is like me, everyone i recognize myself in, dies. What does that mean about me? And we’re all a part of some minority that makes our life expectancy way less than normal, i once did a test that measured when I’m statistically expected to die, with my queerness and addiction and Balkan-ness and mental illness, and it was something like 45. The only way to survive knowing all that is spite. Hey god, I’ll stay alive to prove you wrong, hey system, I can create my art till the ripe old age of 68 when most women in my country die and be myself and do what I want. At this point it’s that keeping me alive and sober and not hurting the beloved I want to teach that to: we can survive. There will be our dead we have to remember and there will be numerous more, but you and I can raise our chances of surviving if we keep the love our souls feel for each other alive. What I mourn every time somebody dies is that: the connection. I mourn the love.
Жълти стъкла (Ели Урумова) - Мътна
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