Done For You

I grew up
hearing the same phrase
over and over:
"Pick your friends wisely."
"You are what your friends are."

I always tried my best
to pick good friends.
The friends I'd make though
were never good enough.
They couldn't help me.
They'd never understand.

My sickness consumed me,
It controlled me in a way.
It helped me
more than "real friends" ever could.

I had the smallest friend in the world.
I took take him everywhere I went.
I could hide him,
and  no one would ever know he was there,
but me.

When my pain became to great,
and my monsters tore me apart.
I knew he was there to help me.
He'd numb my pain,
and quiet the monsters.

My family greatly disapproved.
They said he was a bad influence.
I disagreed.
I needed him,
and soon realized
I depended on him.

I didn't want to believe anything.
I didn't want to hear
my friend was no good for me.
Before It became to late.
I realized everything.

My friend wasn't a friend.
He was an addiction
putting scars on me.
He couldn't fix me,
but only numb me.
He was the voice in my head
driving me to insanity.
I didn't want to die.
I knew I needed help.
I had to do something.

It took me almost seven years.
Seven years to throw him away.
Seven years to say goodbye.

Now I can finally tell the one's I love
"I'm done for you."