Addicted

It is about the time in a relationship where the chemicals kick-in a little stronger, last longer; phenylethylamine, norepinephrine, dopamine.

I’m high. High as a motherfucking kite on that shit. Moments apart have started to become a paranoid comedown. Not unfamiliar, usually something ridden out alone, no one's fault but my own. But this - this is your doing! And you can give me my quick fix, take it away in a second. One text, phone call. 

Give me my dope you bastard! *Winky face*

Check, check, check. I silence your fictitious messages, as if that might help me forget I’m waiting for one.

I writhe around not sleeping. A moment of fuck it lands. My stream of consciousness, vomited your way. Your problem now. 

Phenylethylamine, norepinephrine, dopamine.

In the light of day I see my dignity destroyed in those words. Self respect, as a river, flowing out of me, into the ether, to land in your phone, in your hands. I have given you the power. 

You were cool with it though, this time. OMG! 

I’m an addict.

A problem shared… The concoction of concern and disgust on my mother’s face makes me retreat into my shame.

“Well, I really think you should get yourself some counselling, darling”

That’s it.

My self-respect further diminished by your silence, I still. Reach. Out.

Phenylethylamine, norepinephrine, dopamine.

It’s a foursome, babe.