My body and my mind have been sick lately So my sleep schedule has been fucked.

3am is a normal time to wake. And just before the sun rises, I find a couple of dollars And I put some gas in my tank and I buy a cheap iced coffee, And I drive and I watch the sun come up While I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And as I’m standing at the pump and overdrawing my bank account to put a few dollars of gas in my car, And my speakers are playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat, I see a man around my age walking towards the gas station, From out of the shadows of the distant sidewalk Into the harsh light.

And he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants and he’s walking alone through the dark to a gas station at 5 in the morning to buy a lighter And some part of me registers that this is a man who others may feel nervous about him approaching them through the darkness.

But in him I see myself. And I miss being a meth addict.

And I miss his world. And I miss dragging myself, dirty and beaten, to the nearest gas station at 5 in the morning with loose change in my pocket to buy myself a lighter so that I can smoke my meth pipe.

And I get back in my car that’s still playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat.

And I try to think about what it is I’m missing.

And I think of rooms of faces, Painful, terrible, beautiful faces, Where every person there understands exactly what it’s like to be at a gas station at 5 in the morning listening to a song about wanting to kill your father with a baseball bat.

And you don’t have to think about it. You don’t have to talk about it. They just hand you a pipe And a lighter And the pain goes away.

And I drive to pick up my iced coffee And I don’t feel as bad about the iced coffee as I thought I would. They’re only two dollars, after all. And it’s easy to find two dollars, even when you have nothing else.

You can find two dollars in a lot of places. In your couch. In old jacket pockets. In the kindness of a stranger. And I’ve been hoarding loose change for years. I keep it in my grandpa’s old ammunition box from the war.

The box where I keep one of the shells from the guns they fired at his and grandma’s funeral. The box where I keep a dirty rusty nail that someone gave me in rehab. Someone who didn’t make it, but I did. The box where I keep the smooth pretty blue stone that the other patients passed around on my last day, that they held close to their hearts as they wished me strength on my journey. As they told me that I was strong and that I was going to make it.

And it’s the box where I keep my loose change For iced coffee And meth lighters.

It’s easy to find two dollars. Your mom will give you two dollars If you tell her it’s for iced coffee And not meth lighters.

Your mom will give you two dollars If you promise it’s not to kill yourself.

And in the drive thru the girl asks me to please wait a moment, she has to refill the coffee. And I tell her it’s okay, really, no rush. And she thanks me And tells me she appreciates me.

And I think about all the jobs I’ve had Where I had to ask a customer to please wait a moment So I could do something important Like refill the coffee Or use heroin in the bathroom.

And when she hands me my iced coffee I say thank you And I tell her “I appreciate you too”.

And I see her face fall, briefly, As she is stunned by my words Taken aback by this brief, fleeting moment of genuine kindness and connection.

And just as quickly she smiles at me Truly smiles And says thank you.

And I hurry and drive away, so she can deal with the rest of the cars in line Many of which are running late for work And who will blame her for it.

And I take my drive. And I watch the sun rise. And I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And when I come home I wash down my antidepressants with what’s left of my iced coffee

And I think about how I don’t miss being a meth addict. I am a meth addict Without his pipe.

edit: I just wanna say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read this. Writing this meant a lot to me, and it means everything to me that I’ve been able to express myself and share some of my experiences with all of you. Thank you for sharing this with me.

Please stay safe.