Drift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
positiveenergy) wrote2014-05-05 10:16 am
positiveenergy) wrote2014-05-05 10:16 am
(no subject)
(WARNING: Drug mention, addiction discussion, etc.)
It’s been a month now – a whole month and he’s been completely clean. In retrospect it’s not a long time for a cybertronian, but it’s been an eternity to him. Drift had wanted to quit altogether at first, once he had been sure that he wanted to stop. He’d thought he could handle it.
A few weeks in and he realized that wasn’t going to work; that going cold turkey might just kill him. The withdrawal symptoms had hammered him hard. He changed tactics and slowly tried to wean himself off of every substance his body had become addicted to in the past hundred or so years.
Sometime later and he was finally confident that he could stop entirely; that he could rid himself of his dependency. And he had! A whole month and it had rarely even crossed his mind. Although until now, he’s had other things going on to keep him occupied. War can be a good distraction, if nothing else.
The situation he’s in now is almost comical in its irony. He’d probably find it funnier if he couldn’t already feel himself starting to get jittery. He’s been separated from his squad and the entire region of the planet they’re on is just brimming with all the materials he would need for his old mixing recipes. Drift is positive it’s some sort of test he has to pass in order to put this addiction behind him.
While waiting for his squad to pick him up, he does everything he can think of to turn his mind elsewhere. He goes for a drive, tries a little sword practice and even does some meditating. But no matter what he tries, he can still feel a constant, nagging ITCH in the back of his mind. It’s an all too familiar feeling; one that he knows could escalate soon if things stay the way they are.
Drift’s hands have started shaking and he feels a tight panic in his chest. His vision distorts a little and his surroundings seem to pull away from him. He knows he can get through this, knows he’s strong enough. He doesn’t need it – it’s been a month and he’ll be damned if he’s going to start all over again.
He just wishes someone else was here with him…he wishes Rodimus was here. Drift loathes the idea of appearing weak to Rodimus…but he’s one of the very few autobots who actually know about his addiction. And Rodimus is the only one that Drift feels comfortable enough with to talk about it or to ask for help.
The communicator by his side is silent. It would be so easy to just pick it up and call Rodimus – just to talk to him. Just to help keep himself distracted. But Drift knows that the communicators are connected to every squad member due to the nature of the mission. He can’t stand the thought of anyone listening in to them and he isn’t confident he could keep the shakiness out of his voice anyway.
It won’t matter once the shuttle picks him up. Everyone will be able to see his withdrawal symptoms clear as day. Still, he can’t bring himself to do it. Being an ex-con already gives the autobots plenty of reasons to doubt him, and he doesn’t want to have the label of “addict” slapped next to his name on top of that.
He kneels down on the ground and holds his arms together tightly as the shaking starts to get worse. Keeping his optics shut and his head down, he tries to fill his mind with something, anything, hoping that the tremors will pass.
It’s been a month now – a whole month and he’s been completely clean. In retrospect it’s not a long time for a cybertronian, but it’s been an eternity to him. Drift had wanted to quit altogether at first, once he had been sure that he wanted to stop. He’d thought he could handle it.
A few weeks in and he realized that wasn’t going to work; that going cold turkey might just kill him. The withdrawal symptoms had hammered him hard. He changed tactics and slowly tried to wean himself off of every substance his body had become addicted to in the past hundred or so years.
Sometime later and he was finally confident that he could stop entirely; that he could rid himself of his dependency. And he had! A whole month and it had rarely even crossed his mind. Although until now, he’s had other things going on to keep him occupied. War can be a good distraction, if nothing else.
The situation he’s in now is almost comical in its irony. He’d probably find it funnier if he couldn’t already feel himself starting to get jittery. He’s been separated from his squad and the entire region of the planet they’re on is just brimming with all the materials he would need for his old mixing recipes. Drift is positive it’s some sort of test he has to pass in order to put this addiction behind him.
While waiting for his squad to pick him up, he does everything he can think of to turn his mind elsewhere. He goes for a drive, tries a little sword practice and even does some meditating. But no matter what he tries, he can still feel a constant, nagging ITCH in the back of his mind. It’s an all too familiar feeling; one that he knows could escalate soon if things stay the way they are.
Drift’s hands have started shaking and he feels a tight panic in his chest. His vision distorts a little and his surroundings seem to pull away from him. He knows he can get through this, knows he’s strong enough. He doesn’t need it – it’s been a month and he’ll be damned if he’s going to start all over again.
He just wishes someone else was here with him…he wishes Rodimus was here. Drift loathes the idea of appearing weak to Rodimus…but he’s one of the very few autobots who actually know about his addiction. And Rodimus is the only one that Drift feels comfortable enough with to talk about it or to ask for help.
The communicator by his side is silent. It would be so easy to just pick it up and call Rodimus – just to talk to him. Just to help keep himself distracted. But Drift knows that the communicators are connected to every squad member due to the nature of the mission. He can’t stand the thought of anyone listening in to them and he isn’t confident he could keep the shakiness out of his voice anyway.
It won’t matter once the shuttle picks him up. Everyone will be able to see his withdrawal symptoms clear as day. Still, he can’t bring himself to do it. Being an ex-con already gives the autobots plenty of reasons to doubt him, and he doesn’t want to have the label of “addict” slapped next to his name on top of that.
He kneels down on the ground and holds his arms together tightly as the shaking starts to get worse. Keeping his optics shut and his head down, he tries to fill his mind with something, anything, hoping that the tremors will pass.