Junkie

She sat huddled on the narrow bed, her knees hugged to her chest. Her hair was matted and hadn’t been washed in 3 days. Her skin was pale and pasty, her cheeks sunken in. She knew she smelt terrible, she hadn’t had a bath either but she didn’t really care. Her eyes peered out onto the green sprawling lawns beneath her room window.

A walk in the facility grounds was encouraged everyday, but she hadn’t the heart to do so. She wanted to wallow in her misery. She didn’t want sunshine and fresh air. She simply wanted to die.

She knew that she was getting out of control, needed help. When her mother finally blew and insisted she went for drug treatment, she agreed to save her life from spiralling further downwards. She just didn’t know how hard it was going to be. She didn’t realize how dependent she had been on her drugs.

It didn’t matter that the facility her mother had signed her into was a beautiful one, run by patient, caring doctors and nurses, with cable television, green surroundings, a spacious bedroom decorated with cheery curtains and fresh flowers everyday. Nothing mattered to her anymore, except the agony within her. And she prayed again that she would die.