She had come round from the coma before but no signs of life left them thinking it was hopeless.
Then one day she started to talk to the empty room. A nurse heard her chatting and ran in.
Doctors were summoned.
Lost addictions and abilities cripple you in your new life so much that the craving, though beyond the fortress of yourself will only then knock gently on your door and enter like an old lover, the mistake you still don’t want to make again.
I looked her up again. I tried so hard but I couldn’t resist. I had to see her face. Despite the pain that she caused me. I open up my phone and I look at her picture. I see her smiling. She is happy. Not a care in the world. I relapsed.
again and again time moves faster and faster and when the wind moves through my ears I can almost hear it crooning STOP. I cant. over and over again again. it continues like sickly sweetness. rotten food when your starving. its so good, until you vomit.
if i ever stop falling maybe i could see my future
but it is in this present moment that i dance with the devil
and relapse with a smile on my face
knowing that we both succumbed to our desires
constantly repeating results that end in
“i’ll try again tomorrow”
He couldn’t help it. It seemed after moments, days, years, he would always return, like a beaten dog to its cruel master, like a addict to their vice. it was sick, every time he returned, and the smile on the others face would sting, and yet, he would stay.
where are you going if its the same thing over and over again its not meant to keep you back its to open your eyes to something and be useful do not over use or underuse.
It felt like a tugging, a bobbing, a harrowing vicious love that had slipped through and cracked wide open. Brilliant and tragic, she lived for something that existed only to kill her. She loved it anyway. She loved him anyway. It killed her as surely as cancer, but she smiled in her grave, so it was worth it. To the last.
her hands shake. she bares her teeth, squeezing her eyes against the onslaught of images. her sister is dead. she is alive. her sister is dead. she wants to die. bile burns her throat, and her skin crawls. she wants safety, wants home. but she has neither, and her bones ache.
addicts – someone that reverts back to an earlier behavior. i hope i dont relapse and become as negative as i was last year. i hope the boys dont relapse into their laziness when in comes to school and home work. i h
This is a difficult word, conjuring images of a climber on a mountain. After days, weeks, months, and even years of progress up to the peak, through various obstacles, this word captures the frustration and disappointment of a great fall, speeding negatively past that which took so long to ascend.
It was ten years since the last time I’d sen him. His face was weathered, wrinkles pulling down at the edges of his eyes, and neck folding like an accordion. He’d aged badly. But still my heart fluttered in relapse of the feelings we’d shared. Looking up at me from his book, he seemed smaller, but his mouth widened into a smile and in my mind his shoulders filled out, and he was the same goofy guy he ever was.
I can’t relapse again. I’ve tried so hard. It’s been so long. And I’ve driven everyone away because of it. Now I have no one to turn to. A stupor of drugs and drink seems like a sweet release from this pain. Physical, given by rejection. It all hurts. The small rivlets of my body, the great expanses of my mind, my bones. You imagine a knife just to dig out all the hurt in your chest, to remove it from your body, from your existence. Isn’t this feeling supposed to go away as you grow up. Life gets better, your understanding of who you are grows and it stops hurting because you understand why. Why hasn’t mine stopped hurting? Why hasn’t it gone away? Why is it still here skewering every part of my body in these painful moments that last an eternity?
He sat back into the recliner, trying to avoid her stare. It wasn’t filled with the normal mix of irritation and anger at him, this time it was filled with something else. Something much worse.
fall back, once more, fallen again. what’s the point if you can’t hold on, hang on, cling to that one last chance (one more, then one more, then one more)
Oh no. Please dont ever do that. You mean so much to the world. Please dont. You are perfect. You are beautiful! Dont let anyone tell you differnetly, dont let that bother you cause they are jealous.
You have them, you live through them, you survive them, you dare them to come back. They come. Be ready. Fight back. They are never bigger than you. And when the times comes that they are, rejoice.
Pain. The driver of suffering, pain. The cracks within oneself that refuse to be sealed, over and over, trying, straining to stay intact, not to crumble. And then losing the trust of the people who don’t want their glass to shatter in their hands.
Grandmother suffered her third cancer relapse two months, and despite my parents’ protests, it was back to chemo. There was one thing you could never say about my gram, and that was the idea that she wasn’t a fighter. She was more than a soldier; she was a five star general braving D-Day in World War II. And when I visited her in the hospital, she flashed me a thumbs up and didn’t even wince when the nurse stuck the IV needle in.
“Gotta get my fluids,” she said. “You’ve been hydrating, too, I hope.”
It had been 7 years since I had touched it. Seven years since I felt the burn in my nose and the tingle down my throat. But there it sat in my hand staring at me. All the promises I made will be washed away when I reach the bottom of this bottle.
seeing this word pop up as the word of the day made my stomach flip and my hands shake. Relapse is something I have to fight on a daily basis along with many others, it’s a thought that can control what I’m thinking or feeling and it’s scary to even see it on my screen and thats why this post is so terrible im sorry
She surrendered to the loneliness, to the deafening silence of it. She poured herself a gin, another relapse, and looked out to the heads, stretching across the harbour like two skinny fingers trying to touch one another. The ominous grey of a looming storm was chasing the afternoon sun across the horizon. She tried to stop wondering where he was, what he was doing.
John struggled on the bed, seizing the syringe placed so delicately on the table. He knew it shouldn’t work, but he tried anyway. He tried and tried and tried again. It didn’t work, and he cared so much.
In the three seconds between my decision and my immediate regret, I heard an exploding voice that quickly faded into an echo. The voice of whatever semblance of character that I have mustered in the months between relapses, fired from a slingshot into the nighttime oblivion.
as i strolled out of the prison gates i was thinking. the time i served was tough so i promised myself not to relapse in to the life of crime again. although when word got out that Al Capone was taking my stash i had to break that promise.mmmm
I cannot escape. Every day. I wake up. I go to school. Repeat. I must escape this loop. Every day, I relapse. I have no escape. No escape….. NO ESCAAAAAAPE……..
as i strolled out of the prison gates i was thinking. the time i served was tough so i promised myself not to relapse in to the life of crime again. although when word got out that Al Capone was taking my stash i had to break that promise.
I was very sick one day. I wasn’t at school for 3 days. Then I felt significantly better so i went to school. Then my sickness relapsed and I felt sick at school. I had to go home. I cannot return to school.
When being sick after the cold winter the era of relapse got me back to my feet. Running around being able to do what I want. The pain before was harsh and painful but thanks to medicine and helpful doctors I was safe and sound.
She had come round from the coma before but no signs of life left them thinking it was hopeless.
Then one day she started to talk to the empty room. A nurse heard her chatting and ran in.
Doctors were summoned.
Lost addictions and abilities cripple you in your new life so much that the craving, though beyond the fortress of yourself will only then knock gently on your door and enter like an old lover, the mistake you still don’t want to make again.
I looked her up again. I tried so hard but I couldn’t resist. I had to see her face. Despite the pain that she caused me. I open up my phone and I look at her picture. I see her smiling. She is happy. Not a care in the world. I relapsed.
again and again time moves faster and faster and when the wind moves through my ears I can almost hear it crooning STOP. I cant. over and over again again. it continues like sickly sweetness. rotten food when your starving. its so good, until you vomit.
My horse Honey got very sick and lame last year. She got better and better, but quickly relapsed and had to be put down. It was a devastating time.
Based on a true story.
if i ever stop falling maybe i could see my future
but it is in this present moment that i dance with the devil
and relapse with a smile on my face
knowing that we both succumbed to our desires
constantly repeating results that end in
“i’ll try again tomorrow”
He couldn’t help it. It seemed after moments, days, years, he would always return, like a beaten dog to its cruel master, like a addict to their vice. it was sick, every time he returned, and the smile on the others face would sting, and yet, he would stay.
again it happened once upone a time addiction
where are you going if its the same thing over and over again its not meant to keep you back its to open your eyes to something and be useful do not over use or underuse.
It felt like a tugging, a bobbing, a harrowing vicious love that had slipped through and cracked wide open. Brilliant and tragic, she lived for something that existed only to kill her. She loved it anyway. She loved him anyway. It killed her as surely as cancer, but she smiled in her grave, so it was worth it. To the last.
her hands shake. she bares her teeth, squeezing her eyes against the onslaught of images. her sister is dead. she is alive. her sister is dead. she wants to die. bile burns her throat, and her skin crawls. she wants safety, wants home. but she has neither, and her bones ache.
addicts – someone that reverts back to an earlier behavior. i hope i dont relapse and become as negative as i was last year. i hope the boys dont relapse into their laziness when in comes to school and home work. i h
This is a difficult word, conjuring images of a climber on a mountain. After days, weeks, months, and even years of progress up to the peak, through various obstacles, this word captures the frustration and disappointment of a great fall, speeding negatively past that which took so long to ascend.
relapse, and the first thing that comes to mind is you. another mistake, another time to try.
It was ten years since the last time I’d sen him. His face was weathered, wrinkles pulling down at the edges of his eyes, and neck folding like an accordion. He’d aged badly. But still my heart fluttered in relapse of the feelings we’d shared. Looking up at me from his book, he seemed smaller, but his mouth widened into a smile and in my mind his shoulders filled out, and he was the same goofy guy he ever was.
I can’t relapse again. I’ve tried so hard. It’s been so long. And I’ve driven everyone away because of it. Now I have no one to turn to. A stupor of drugs and drink seems like a sweet release from this pain. Physical, given by rejection. It all hurts. The small rivlets of my body, the great expanses of my mind, my bones. You imagine a knife just to dig out all the hurt in your chest, to remove it from your body, from your existence. Isn’t this feeling supposed to go away as you grow up. Life gets better, your understanding of who you are grows and it stops hurting because you understand why. Why hasn’t mine stopped hurting? Why hasn’t it gone away? Why is it still here skewering every part of my body in these painful moments that last an eternity?
He sat back into the recliner, trying to avoid her stare. It wasn’t filled with the normal mix of irritation and anger at him, this time it was filled with something else. Something much worse.
Her disappointment.
He had relapsed for the final time.
This room is cold and my hands are too small to span the walls. The white pain is nicked, but my nails have been bitten down to stubs.
fall back, once more, fallen again. what’s the point if you can’t hold on, hang on, cling to that one last chance (one more, then one more, then one more)
My brother. Addiction, drugs, selfharm. hurt. I want him back. falling back to the start. recovery, rehab,miss him, twin
Oh no. Please dont ever do that. You mean so much to the world. Please dont. You are perfect. You are beautiful! Dont let anyone tell you differnetly, dont let that bother you cause they are jealous.
You have them, you live through them, you survive them, you dare them to come back. They come. Be ready. Fight back. They are never bigger than you. And when the times comes that they are, rejoice.
Pain. The driver of suffering, pain. The cracks within oneself that refuse to be sealed, over and over, trying, straining to stay intact, not to crumble. And then losing the trust of the people who don’t want their glass to shatter in their hands.
The boy lent over the counter clasping his chest. It was a relapse of the attack he had had six weeks ago only this time the pain was more intense
Grandmother suffered her third cancer relapse two months, and despite my parents’ protests, it was back to chemo. There was one thing you could never say about my gram, and that was the idea that she wasn’t a fighter. She was more than a soldier; she was a five star general braving D-Day in World War II. And when I visited her in the hospital, she flashed me a thumbs up and didn’t even wince when the nurse stuck the IV needle in.
“Gotta get my fluids,” she said. “You’ve been hydrating, too, I hope.”
It had been 7 years since I had touched it. Seven years since I felt the burn in my nose and the tingle down my throat. But there it sat in my hand staring at me. All the promises I made will be washed away when I reach the bottom of this bottle.
seeing this word pop up as the word of the day made my stomach flip and my hands shake. Relapse is something I have to fight on a daily basis along with many others, it’s a thought that can control what I’m thinking or feeling and it’s scary to even see it on my screen and thats why this post is so terrible im sorry
She surrendered to the loneliness, to the deafening silence of it. She poured herself a gin, another relapse, and looked out to the heads, stretching across the harbour like two skinny fingers trying to touch one another. The ominous grey of a looming storm was chasing the afternoon sun across the horizon. She tried to stop wondering where he was, what he was doing.
John struggled on the bed, seizing the syringe placed so delicately on the table. He knew it shouldn’t work, but he tried anyway. He tried and tried and tried again. It didn’t work, and he cared so much.
In the three seconds between my decision and my immediate regret, I heard an exploding voice that quickly faded into an echo. The voice of whatever semblance of character that I have mustered in the months between relapses, fired from a slingshot into the nighttime oblivion.
as i strolled out of the prison gates i was thinking. the time i served was tough so i promised myself not to relapse in to the life of crime again. although when word got out that Al Capone was taking my stash i had to break that promise.mmmm
../klingemtar……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
I cannot escape. Every day. I wake up. I go to school. Repeat. I must escape this loop. Every day, I relapse. I have no escape. No escape….. NO ESCAAAAAAPE……..
as i strolled out of the prison gates i was thinking. the time i served was tough so i promised myself not to relapse in to the life of crime again. although when word got out that Al Capone was taking my stash i had to break that promise.
I was very sick one day. I wasn’t at school for 3 days. Then I felt significantly better so i went to school. Then my sickness relapsed and I felt sick at school. I had to go home. I cannot return to school.
When being sick after the cold winter the era of relapse got me back to my feet. Running around being able to do what I want. The pain before was harsh and painful but thanks to medicine and helpful doctors I was safe and sound.
Lifes routine are a continuous relapse.
This can’t be happening! I had just bounced back, and now it’s coming back to get me.
Its gone finally the flu has gone I can now actually feel better but now its gone.
Time lapsed to a stop, then rewound, then went forward, then back, then forward again. The bullet went forward. Then back. Then into the man.
The doctor strode up to me at a surprising pace. I’m sorry, but he’s had a relapse.
Is this actually happening, really? It can’t be this again.