Psyche logo

III.

What You Know

By kpPublished about a year ago 3 min read
Like
III.
Photo by Colin Davis on Unsplash

Bump?

The young man apologizes, revealing his assumption that I’d accept any drug. He determined this, he says, by my relaxed sweats and Hawaiian button-up; lime-green GameBoy; Hokusai copy (not the great wave) hanging; Jose silver next to game leaves; and my confessed exploits with microdosing during this day’s regularly scheduled programming. I tell myself (hardly in earnest) that he is most likely correct and accept his offering. He says I am ‘the real,’ and I am left to decipher what this means from his earlier list of observations. I decide it must refer to people who are chronically depressed and filling pesky emotional voids with persistent substance abuse and tedious displays of appropriated interests. He rambles for some time before he tells me again that I’m as real as it gets, adding that this assessment includes people who don’t have social media profiles. I don’t tell him I don’t have social media profiles. He has lionized this misanthropic manic enough.

The coke, metallic and familiar, but not friend, empties me for a moment. The entirety of the room and its guests retreat into the back of my mind and out again. Only momentarily, though. I feel a tug of regret I didn’t do the whole line. I look for the plate, but it is in someone else’s hand as they lean over to snuff cocaine off its clean, porcelain surface. I pick up the Jose and weed rolled in game leaf and gesture for my guests to ascend with me. A round for each of them to hasten the journey they won’t finish with me. I return Jose to his home as the flasks are removed from theirs. My role this night is ephemeral; I feel no obligation to remain present while these men make themselves busy with their forgetting. I think and write a few of these notes to myself while they practice the motions they will repeat the remainder of the night: pour, drink, talk out the ass. I cannot forget these interactions, no matter how brief or superficial.

In my emptiness, I consider the tenuous connection we now all share. I type, “will I ever see them again?” I’m sure not. They have completely lost my interest and attention, as most men do, with their conversations about women, sports, and parties. They don’t even notice my laptop or that I have left the conversation. Catatonia settles for a moment, but a prolonged silence in the room cues a perfectly executed and engaged comment to mark my return: the offer of another shot. This well-practiced and universal contribution to any conversation, as well as my physical presence in the room, ensures that they don’t notice I was ever gone.

“This is why you’re the best. I’m gonna bring all my friends to you for the hookup.” The one man I know says to me as I pour their drinks. I mull over these words carefully. Do I want more strangers in my home? I have school, deadlines, and work. Dissociating from these interactions is both valuable and wasteful. On the one hand, I am able to remove myself from unwanted social engagements while still being present, ensuring I make money while still protecting my energy and time.

On the other hand, these resources are valuable to me and rarely in steady supply. The decision to engage with and deal drugs to strange users weighs heavily on me. I see another form of self-sabotage. Another way for me to ensure I will not succeed in achieving my personal goals of obtaining my degree and landing a job that will render drug dealing obsolete to me.

addictionbipolarcopingdepressiondisorderhumanitymedicinepersonality disorderrecoveryselfcarestigmasupporttrauma
Like

About the Creator

kp

I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.