Post by XAVIER NICHOLLS on Jan 29, 2013 1:46:23 GMT -8
[newclass=.lazytoni]width: 400px; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 15px; font-family: dosis; font-weight: normal; opacity: 0.9;[/newclass]
You were living the life you'd been staring out the window daydreaming about during high school history classes. Everything was great. The parties, the fans, not to mention there was nothing more exhilarating and exciting for you and your band than playing for thousands of adoring fans.
Your inexperience made it easy for you especially to get caught up in the glitz and the glamour of it all. Those around you were convinced you were destined for success. You had it all, the friends, the band, the fame. It was everything you'd ever wanted and more. All good things must come to an end, though.
Ultimately it was your addictions that were your downfall, not your inexperience and ever-expanding ego. You were nineteen when you had your first line of cocaine, but that quickly progressed to bigger and better things. Things such as heroin. You were addicted by your twentieth birthday. Your life was rapidly going downhill and you didn't care to stop it. As long as you had your fix, you didn't care what happened.
Your band suggested you look into rehab when you were only twenty two, by that time you'd had well over half a dozen close calls. While extremely reluctant at first, you eventually agreed. You'd let your life spiral out of control and you were ready to get it back again. Those around you were more than ready to get Xavier Nicholls back, your addictions had more than swallowed the person you once were whole. Once a bright, happy, humorous and just all around good person had morphed into a bitter, manipulative, careless and self-destructive shell of a person. Your friends had watched all the light and happiness drain from your eyes, a person who was once destined for success became destined for a very premature death.
When you checked yourself into rehab, things started to look up. You were out of there before you knew it, and for at least a month afterward you didn't get your needles out. It was only as you were looking through your belongings one day that you found the box of needles.
You shut the box quickly and threw it in the trash, promising yourself that would be the end of it. You promised yourself you weren't going to reopen that chapter of your life, you knew what would happen if you did. You'd lose your friends, reputation and your mind all over again. You weren't willing to go down that path again. Or so you said.
Less than six hours later you were rummaging through the trash.
You couldn't lie to yourself anymore. You hated being sober, you wanted your alternate reality back. You were willing to risk it all if it meant that you could feel that euphoria once again.
He was surprised to receive your call, but promised he'd have everything you needed if you met him in an hour. He was more than happy to give you what you wanted for a discounted price if you did him a few favours. It was nothing you weren't accustomed to. You knew you had to pay a price for what you wanted, one way or another.
You'd completely forgotten that you'd arranged to have your bandmates come over later that day as you searched for a suitable vein. All you cared about was getting your fix, you were shaking with excitement. The high was so close you could almost taste it.
There were several knocks on your door around seven that night, but you were out cold in your bedroom floor, curled up in a pile of presumably dirty clothes. Another thing that had slipped your mind was how quickly the effects of the drugs set in.
Thirty seven phone calls and well over an hour of frustration later, they realised the door was unlocked, and chose to go and investigate. They had no idea what was waiting for them.
The evidence of your recent activities was clear, and you were out of the band. Just like that.
Just like that, your world came crashing down around you. Once more you were on the collision course with a premature death. And it was a bit like taking a one way ticket, because there was no going back.
Not this time, at least.
What's even scarier than your addiction itself is the fact that you almost completely and utterly disregard it. You're convinced you could quit any time you like, but the truth is you can't. You'll overdose and most likely die before you ever even begin to consider quitting. You tried it before, hell, you even went to rehab. To you, the process was a complete waste of time, and being 'dope sick' quite simply wasn't worth the effort.
The few that still call you a friend know not to bring up your addiction, no matter the context. They know if they bring it up with you, there's no telling how you'll react at all. You've been known to react in a variety of ways, and that's why most try to avoid the subject at all costs.
You have what some would call a temperamental nature, a volatile and unpredictable personality. Over the years the heroin seems to have made you excessively irrational, not to mention paranoid. Neither are really because of the drug itself, but rather a side effect of the addiction that holds you prisoner.
xavier james nicholls.
XAVE. 24. SEPT 3. BISEXUAL. CREW. MERCH FOR CTS. KELLIN QUINN.
'Selling my soul would be a lot easier if I could just find it.'
When you first entered the touring scene, you were fresh-faced, young and ready to go. You were merely eighteen years of age, you'd dropped out of high school to follow your dreams. Your band put on a brilliant live show, and before long you were part of one of the most well-known bands in the genre at that time. Cut Up Angels was the name on everyone's lips.You were living the life you'd been staring out the window daydreaming about during high school history classes. Everything was great. The parties, the fans, not to mention there was nothing more exhilarating and exciting for you and your band than playing for thousands of adoring fans.
Your inexperience made it easy for you especially to get caught up in the glitz and the glamour of it all. Those around you were convinced you were destined for success. You had it all, the friends, the band, the fame. It was everything you'd ever wanted and more. All good things must come to an end, though.
Ultimately it was your addictions that were your downfall, not your inexperience and ever-expanding ego. You were nineteen when you had your first line of cocaine, but that quickly progressed to bigger and better things. Things such as heroin. You were addicted by your twentieth birthday. Your life was rapidly going downhill and you didn't care to stop it. As long as you had your fix, you didn't care what happened.
Your band suggested you look into rehab when you were only twenty two, by that time you'd had well over half a dozen close calls. While extremely reluctant at first, you eventually agreed. You'd let your life spiral out of control and you were ready to get it back again. Those around you were more than ready to get Xavier Nicholls back, your addictions had more than swallowed the person you once were whole. Once a bright, happy, humorous and just all around good person had morphed into a bitter, manipulative, careless and self-destructive shell of a person. Your friends had watched all the light and happiness drain from your eyes, a person who was once destined for success became destined for a very premature death.
When you checked yourself into rehab, things started to look up. You were out of there before you knew it, and for at least a month afterward you didn't get your needles out. It was only as you were looking through your belongings one day that you found the box of needles.
You shut the box quickly and threw it in the trash, promising yourself that would be the end of it. You promised yourself you weren't going to reopen that chapter of your life, you knew what would happen if you did. You'd lose your friends, reputation and your mind all over again. You weren't willing to go down that path again. Or so you said.
Less than six hours later you were rummaging through the trash.
You couldn't lie to yourself anymore. You hated being sober, you wanted your alternate reality back. You were willing to risk it all if it meant that you could feel that euphoria once again.
He was surprised to receive your call, but promised he'd have everything you needed if you met him in an hour. He was more than happy to give you what you wanted for a discounted price if you did him a few favours. It was nothing you weren't accustomed to. You knew you had to pay a price for what you wanted, one way or another.
You'd completely forgotten that you'd arranged to have your bandmates come over later that day as you searched for a suitable vein. All you cared about was getting your fix, you were shaking with excitement. The high was so close you could almost taste it.
There were several knocks on your door around seven that night, but you were out cold in your bedroom floor, curled up in a pile of presumably dirty clothes. Another thing that had slipped your mind was how quickly the effects of the drugs set in.
Thirty seven phone calls and well over an hour of frustration later, they realised the door was unlocked, and chose to go and investigate. They had no idea what was waiting for them.
The evidence of your recent activities was clear, and you were out of the band. Just like that.
Just like that, your world came crashing down around you. Once more you were on the collision course with a premature death. And it was a bit like taking a one way ticket, because there was no going back.
Not this time, at least.
'Addiction is when you can give up something anytime, as long as it's next Tuesday.'
'Fuck you, of course I can quit,' You'll usually say, with a short and half-hearted laugh to punctuate your claim. It's a blatant lie spoken in the words of a true addict, but you're blind to that fact.What's even scarier than your addiction itself is the fact that you almost completely and utterly disregard it. You're convinced you could quit any time you like, but the truth is you can't. You'll overdose and most likely die before you ever even begin to consider quitting. You tried it before, hell, you even went to rehab. To you, the process was a complete waste of time, and being 'dope sick' quite simply wasn't worth the effort.
The few that still call you a friend know not to bring up your addiction, no matter the context. They know if they bring it up with you, there's no telling how you'll react at all. You've been known to react in a variety of ways, and that's why most try to avoid the subject at all costs.
You have what some would call a temperamental nature, a volatile and unpredictable personality. Over the years the heroin seems to have made you excessively irrational, not to mention paranoid. Neither are really because of the drug itself, but rather a side effect of the addiction that holds you prisoner.
TONI. PM FOR AIM/MSN/SKYPE. AEST. 4+ YEARS. ASSHAT, DORA AND KOTA.
