Almost Easy

We’d been driving for what felt like years to make it to Texas. Austin was annoyingly reminding us every two seconds that we would be in his namesake. I strongly disbelieved that he’d actually been named after a city but who knows.
It was another small(ish) show and for that, I was grateful. Things had been rough in the Blair camp. It seemed like the more I reeled over the whole bathroom incident, the more veiled trauma about Tyler revealed itself. I looked like I hadn’t slept in a year. It was bad.
I’d lost nearly fourteen pounds, which I accredited partly from the stress of touring with minimal food, the chaotic mental state I’d found myself in, and my constant—and I do mean constant—drug use. It was a release for me and that was all I needed at the time. I needed something to pull me away from myself. Away from what had happened.
The worst year of my life.
We’d been warming up for the show for a solid twenty minutes. Everyone was restless to get on stage; except me. I was on the couch, staring at a wall, thinking about my life. Thinking about who I used to be. I was certain that I used to be strong. I used to be capable of mitigating my damage…but I just couldn’t seem to rally. I felt like a shell of who I once was.
Maybe it was the hole straw that broke the camel’s back thing. I wasn’t sure.
“What’s up?” Jimmy asked happily as he threw himself onto the couch next to me.
I heard him, I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him. The wall was just so interesting…
“Blair,” he sang, waving his hand in front of my face.
I moved my eyes without moving my head. He sort of doubled back, startled by my creepy half-movement.
“You okay?” he asked, still obviously uncomfortable.
I nodded.
“Whatever you say,” he shook his head, looking around suspiciously for a second before sliding his hand into mine. “Don’t tell Brian.”
I could feel the little bag fill my palm. I smiled then, feeling a wave of relief rush over me.
“Blair, you good to go over there?” Justin called to me. “Have you even warmed up yet?”
I was numb.
“I have to pee,” is all I said.
Brian watched me with grave concern as I excused myself from the group and shut the bathroom door tightly behind me. I turned the lock to give myself peace of mind. And then I sat myself on the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
“You need to stop,” I muttered to myself as I found my fingers running over the tiny bag of white powder.
I tried to do my daily ritual. I told myself that I was strong and that I was recovering. I didn’t need drugs to feel okay. I didn’t need anything. I was perfectly fine.
But we all know that was some heavy-handed bullshit.
My thought process changed right away—as it always did. It started to scream at me about how useless I’d become. How much talent I was squandering with my endless self-pity; how unlovable I’d become. Maybe how unlovable I’d always been. After all, my unending love for Tyler hadn’t been enough to convince him to stick around. He hadn’t cared at all what his death would mean for me. He didn’t think about me at all.
Dave had obviously not cared about me. He’d assumed I was some disposable object that he could use up at his will and toss aside, claiming it never happened. Or that I’d wanted it.
What had I done to deserve such reckless behavior forced onto me? The mixture of the two was enough to make me revert into myself. I’d been waiting for the sun to rise so that I could crawl out of my shell, but it never came. I started to think it was never coming.
Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I pushed myself off the floor and dumped the bag onto the counter, using my fingers to push it into a manageable line. I took it all. Far more than I should have, I knew that. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore…except getting out.
I thought about it all the time. It would be so simple. Maybe I take too much one night. Maybe I jump from the bus—or in front of the bus.
I knew I was in trouble. But I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words to anyone. Jimmy was the only one who knew the truth. I’d assumed he’d rat me out to Brian but he never did.
“Blair?” Brian’s voice boomed through the door. “Two minute call.”
“I’m coming,” I said quickly.
I leaned over the counter to breathe in the rest of my stash. The flow was so thick that it caused me to have a coughing conniption. I braced myself against the mirror as my body writhed and fought me.
“Are you okay?” Brian called again through the door.
I tried desperately to push down my choking. There was no reasonable explanation for it other than that I was getting fucked up…again. I’d passed it off to Brian every time he’d busted me as having a good time. We’d done it all the time before all of my bullshit started, so I didn’t see why it should be a problem then.
But it was.
“I’m fine,” I said finally. “Water down the wrong pipe.”
He didn’t say anything so I assumed that had temporarily satisfied him.
I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror as I took the opportunity to fix myself up before heading on stage. I looked like a psycho. I had deep bags under my eyes and I looked strung out as all hell. But I was starting to feel good so I decided I didn’t care.
Wiping the excess drug powder into the sink and washing it away, I flushed the bag down the toilet. This should have been my number one indicator that maybe I’d developed a problem. It was what it was. Jimmy knew; Jimmy would keep an eye on me.
I emerged from the bathroom feeling renewed. Jimmy gave me a disapproving look but said nothing.
“Let’s go!” I called happily.
Everyone started filing out of the dressing room, low chit-chat flowing amongst them. I was sailing far away—thank goodness. If I’d had to live with myself for another second…
“So,” Brian started once he’d caught up to me, “how high are you right now?”
I looked at him quickly, “What makes you think I’m high?”
“Give me a little credit,” he scoffed.
“Brian, don’t start,” I groaned. “I’m okay, really.”
“That’s the fourth night this week.”
He was way off. I’d been high for most of my life for the last nine days. Nine days.
To be fair, most of the time it was with Jimmy. It wasn’t my typical routine to hide away in the bathroom snorting lines off the counter. That was a desperate measures type of move. I’d gotten to be pretty desperate.
“You’re not,” he argued. “I don’t need another drug addict in my life.”
I furrowed my brows at him and tried not to pulse my hands on my hips. I was getting the serious need to run.
“I’m not a drug addict,” I said seriously.
He nodded, his lips pursed together intensely, “Sure, Blair.”
“I’m not,” I said again. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Oh, you bet,” he said cryptically before leaving me in his dust to catch up to Chris.
I was in trouble.

Notes

Oh, Blair.. My poor, sweet Blair.

xx