Nowhere Friends

October 20, 2005


This is where we end up when we’re unable to make our dreams come true. With nothing else left to do but age, we nurture our habits and feed our addictions, we continue on living a lifestyle that is much too familiar to change, but I always thought it might be different, I thought we might actually capture happiness. Is anybody ever where they want to be? Ten years down the road when I’m knocking on 40’s door, will I still be doing this? Will I still be a smoker with weak intentions to quit? Will I still be a pothead always looking for a better connection? Will I still be a struggling writer looking to get published, probably so, but maybe not, maybe I’ll be exactly where I want to be. Maybe tomorrow will change everything, but I don’t think they see it that way. I don’t think they think about the future. I don’t think they carry an ounce of hope. Now nearing the end of my 20’s, I am faced with an absence of friends and regretful for looking the other way, and finally, walking away. Pills are their heroin, and I’m no match for this drug, but these junkies I’ve known since early childhood. With too many overdoses to count, I’m waiting for that inevitable phone call – time to lay out the black suit, time to bury another. But didn’t we have fun when addictions were still in experimental stages and boredom was much easier to cure. I think about stopping by sometimes. Would I even be welcomed? What would I say? What do you say to complete strangers who used to be your best friends? I suppose we would make small talk until we were all so uncomfortable we couldn’t take anymore, and then I would leave the three of them, and that would be pretty much be it. Such friendships are irreplaceable, but my hands are tied when friends are irreparable. They go through about 140 pills each in a period of about three days, four if they conserve. When hurricane Rita was heading our way, they were unable to get any pills before the city shut down and spent the following 3 days vomiting and yelling at each other, placing blame for their current drought. Vicodin is the pill of choice but Soma and Xanax come in a close second. I understand addiction, I too deal with it every day, and I can’t say that I blame them for self-medicating themselves with heavy doses – the past is always a constant reminder. I just want my friends back, but time is too late for that, and our ties are torn and tattered and nearly nonexistent.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist