She wipes under her nose and leaves a streak of snot on her pointer finger.
“When will I get this right?” She questions herself.
Everyday around 7pm her anxiety takes control over her mind and she is forced to face the boredom. Boredom is her biggest trigger you know. When nothing seems to satisfy her, she turns to the demon for a sense of belonging and excitement. Her palms are sticky, her face is red and her mind numb.
She exhales slowly.
The high lasts for 15 minutes. Just enough time to occupy her time with a hobby, or at least an activity she once enjoyed. Everything gets boring after 20 minutes with her but she continues to bounce all over the place trying to find something to soothe the uncomfortable affects. Physically, she shakes her leg, bites her lips, and paces the house back and forth. Mentally, she can’t focus for longer than it takes her to decide to proceed with whatever she is doing.
Even writing gets to be a chore after 20 minutes.
Two days later…Same routine.
The words stick to the front of her mind like peanut butter sticking to the roof of her mouth. they are right there but they are hard to swallow and just as hard to type.
“When will the relapse end?” She ponders.
As soon as self-control creeps in and pushes the impulses out of the way. Until that happens, it is going to be like this. Night after night. Line after line and word by word.