Plastic

I can't describe it. It's like getting totally plastered on tequila, then lying on your back in the middle of a lukewarm swimming pool...then- maybe then- you'd know what it feels like. Nobody knows what I do... I'm just tall gangly Ron, aren't I? I bet you didn't even know that I did it... but you do now. Actually, now that I think of it... one other person does know, but she wouldn't ever tell anyone. She walked in on me one day looking for Harry, I guess she thought he'd be with me... it pisses me off that everyone thinks we're inseparable, some people even think we're gay, but they should know better, we both have girlfriends, but I suppose they're just our *cover*.

You know what my favorite song to listen to is when I do it? Gigantic, by the Pixies. Lame, I know, but there's just something about that song.... Why am I telling you this? Music is totally irrelevant to my point. I guess... I guess it's just because I don't want to get to the subject... but it's inevitable, I suppose.

I guess you should know, that I don't do it for attention, or for any other of those candy ass reasons that people do shit like this... to *feel* something... pussies.... No, I do it for some other reason... a reason that- I don't even know what it is.

Wizards have to get shots too, you know... like you guys, we have to get shots.... When I was little I always remember Ginny crying when we had to go to the Health Department at the Ministry to get shots because she didn't like needles, and Fred and George used to tease each other or make jokes, because they didn't like it either. I did. I didn't quite get it until I was older... but I relished in it. Needles just made me feel... I don't know... fake (after all it's not natural to have sharp metallic things in your body). And when you're fake- when you're not real... you're indestructible. So in case you haven't quite picked up on it yet, I shoot up. Over the past couple of years I've managed to get a hold of some syringes and shit when Dad has me work for him in the office (the Health Departments two offices down, and very, very careless). I used to shoot anything, and I mean anything. Water... lemonade... just something to push into my skin... to get me back to being plastic.

They've noticed. Everybody's noticed. I'm not clumsy anymore, I don't get embarrassed anymore because I just don't care. When I'm around Harry or Hermione, I just get this kind of numb feeling, like when you're too tired to fall asleep, when you can occupy yourself for hours just by staring at the wall, literally, hours. It's when I'm alone that I can be myself. Everybody's gotten this... this picture- of me... just permanently... embedded in their minds. I'm Ron Weasly, aren't I? I come from an upstanding family (who may not be filthy rich, but we love each other) and I'm best friends with the boy who lives, and the smartest girl at Hogwarts, after all... how could I possibly *screw up* with those two keeping me in check? Well I fucking showed them how I could screw up. I don't think I screwed up, not in the least! I think everyone should be pretty damn proud of me for breaking up the picture of perfection... because... who likes perfect? It sounds too damn real for me. So any way, with this annoying mental Polaroid that everyone has of me, they refuse to see Ron Weasly as a coke addict.... Maybe I should just stand up in the middle of dinner at the Great Hall one of these days, pull out a needle, and... and... well you know... prove them wrong.

You're probably wondering how the fuck wizards get coke... or how I even have the money to get it. Well... let's just say... I know a girl. You know her too, the girl that walked in on me. Cho Chang. Yea that's right, it's Cho... she saw me shooting up pumpkin juice and took pity on me. She comes from a wealthy family, who disowned her older brother for being a dealer to muggles, and getting Cho in on the act. They only put her in rehab, though, I guess they thought it was her brother's fault... poor bastard. Cho's a conniving little bitch, you know? She gave me her shit (which was a lot) and told her parents she was clean after a couple months. I worry about myself, you know. I'm afraid that someday I'm just going to lose it and overdose and die. No, I'm not some emo loser (on offense) who would commit suicide because I don't fit into my little sister's jeans anymore. I don't want to die. That's why I still hang around with Harry, I guess... cause I feel sorry for the poor bastard. He has to die, him or that model of cliché evil. And does cliché evil ever truly die? No. I don't know why I'm still around Hermione. I love her, I guess. She's worried about me, I can tell. That is... she's worried about me when she's around... she's been really distant lately... really... distant. She always asks if I need help on my homework... as if I even do my homework anymore. How the hell is homework important? Just as long as I pass my finals and can get the hell out of here. She suspects something... suspects that I do what I do... but she doesn't know yet, doesn't quite know.

I'm so tired. Why am I so damn tired?

It's pointless, I know. Shooting, I mean. I think I'll stop. Yea, that sounds good. I'll stop. It's that easy, you know... to just stop... it's not like I'm addicted or anything. I'll find something else. I'm sick of feeling so... so... larger than life, you know? I want to be brought back down... I want to be with my friends again, be with her. I want a lot of things. I want Harry to not be the boy who lived... it drives him crazy, and he wants his parents. I want Hermione to be recognized for who she is, not how good her grades are. I want Ginny to get through her life happily. I want... I don't know what the hell I want.

Don't even try cause you can't ignore her

I've got a scab on my thumb. I can't remember how I got it. When are they coming back? I'm so damn sick of this inner monologue crap.

And I'm just so... tired.