Page 123 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

Month One

They say I need to write all my thoughts and feelings down into a journal. A fucking journal. But it’s part of the program, and I’m playing the part, so here I am.

I’ve been in here for two days. In rehab. In fucking Portland because Essa dragged me here. Well, that’s not true. I came of my own volition, but I’m starting to regret that decision.

Withdrawal has already set in. My veins are rubbing together like sandpaper as they dry out from the heroin they crave.

That’s right—heroin. The big fucking H.

I need it more than anything, more than my need for the man who destroyed me, and I hate it.

I don’t want to be this person, but I am, and I have to accept that—or at least that’s what they say.

It all feels pathetic, pointless: living, breathing, surviving.

I was raped to feed my addiction.

My insides were ripped apart, and along with it, my soul.

I think about Everett every day. I miss him, but I think my need is still too entwined with pain to really think too much about it.

Thinking about him hurts worse than the withdrawal.

The shakes are coming back, and my stomach is cramping, so I have to go because I’m about to puke all over this notebook.

The counselors said they aren’t going to read this, but I don’t believe them. I don’t trust anyone. So, Janice, if you’re reading, fuck you, and I hope you like the stench of my vomit.

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