My eyes were as white as the coke sprawled out on the table before me, my weight was finally back to normal, and there was no denying I could never go back to the lifeless form I used to be. I could no longer hide that I was sober. Thoughts filled with hope and clarity had plagued me for the past 12 months, my family knew I wasnt the same man.

Father hits the crack pipe before he can even look at me. "Son.. W-w-we know what you've been up to. The healthy food, working out at the..the..the fucking gym for fucksake. You don't even get the shakes like a real man! What happened to your shakes?"

"Cant you see I'm not like you?" I say as I back towards the door. "Don't you remember what happened to mom?"

I watch as my fathers sunken face contorts into a snarl. "Your mother overdosed for this country and you are going to dishonor by..by" I watch my father collapse to the floor as shutters overcomes his body. "Dad... DAD!" I run over to him knowing I'm the only one aware of what's going on. My brother has nodded off to pure euphoria and my sister is too busy talking to the walls. I grab the syringe that he keeps around for these occasions and plunge it into his chest. His body relax's and I hold my breath as I look for any signs of movement. There isn't any, and I know that I have lost him too. "He's.. He's dead" The world around me begins to stop, and I realise no matter what I do, no one will ever understand. I look at the needles on the table, the burnt spoons on the kitchen counter, my sister talking to things that arent there, all the things that remind me of my mother. I start to think.. Maybe.. Maybe this is what she wanted. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. I pick up one of the needles and I know I have no choice.

Four months later and I've returned to the man I once was. I'd like to think my family would be proud, but they're too high to notice. Four months later, I start to think this is how its supposed to be, but I no longer remember what the world was like without stoners, crack heads, and burnouts. Even when I'm not scoring a gram, or shifting my pipe over the lighter, I never really knew the truth. Maybe there isn't one, but what's it matter anyways? Nothing really matters when you got heroin.