I was just smoking a bong and I blew it too hard and now it's all over my face and, oh my gosh, holy fuck! Is that... am I bleeding? How did I blow it so hard it broke my face?

Edit: was high when I wrote this and didn't get it posted before I fell asleep. Since I posted YTA I'm going to clean this shit up. Iblame you all.<br><br>I had a dream I was saying goodbye to a friend but we were in the middle of a band practice. I had to get the snare out of the case and I was crying. My friend was just standing there. I woke up feeling awful and the terrible heavy feeling just got worse and worse. I dozed again and woke for a few minutes before going to the kitchen for something to eat. <br><br>When I opened the cupboard, I knew something was wrong. I got some chips and sat on the couch and took some tokes from a bong. All I remember is that I sucked really hard and then what felt like cold water hit my face. I managed to put the bong down on the coffee table before I started shaking. I just sat in silence, watching my bloody hands shake, and then I got up and went to the kitchen. I looked at what was left of my face with my left eye and moaned. <br><br>I reached to touch my chin and my hand came away bloody but when I looked I couldn't find any cuts at all in it but the water from the dishwasher had an orange tint. I went back to the living room and canvassed the room to see if there was anyone else there but I was alone. I sat on the coffee table and dipped my hands in the water at the bottom of the bong. <br><br>I cupped my hands to bring some water to my face and when I opened my eyes I could only see out of the left one. I opened my right eye and the water gushed out of it. I shrieked. I didn't know what to do so I sat there on the coffee table and cried. I sat there, holding the water against my face as it gushed out of my eye, until I heard some noise in the kitchen.<br><br>I went to the kitchen, still crying, and there was my cat, standing in the sink. "Oh no little kitty," I said. "I feel so bad for you. I know how you feel!" He turned and looked at me, and his face was so obvious that I had brought him into this world. I knew that I had to do the right thing. I reached to pick him up so I could give him a good pet before I had to kill him, and then the blood from my hands stained his fur. <br><br>That was too much for me. I started screaming, sobbing as I stood there in the kitchen, holding my cat in my arms, the water from my eye and the blood from my hands ruining his fur. I didn't know what to do, I just cried. I was so hazy, my head swimming, but I knew I needed to do the right thing. I couldn't let him drown like that. I reached for the knife sheath on my hip but it was empty. I thought back to the last time I had used my knife and I didn't remember much.<br><br>I remember being in pain. I remember this heavy feeling that I couldn't get out of my head and the way it reminded me of when I was a kid trapped behind the bar at the pub. Mom would have some doobies after work and she'd let me smoke too sometimes. I remember how the desk felt, beneath my back. Another desk. I remember being scared in the dark, hiding behind the bar and I couldn't move. And the knife. I remember the knife.<br><br>After we started band practice, I couldn't get out of the practice room. I’d take a hit off a doobie and fall asleep. I’d wake up and my face would hurt and I couldn’t see again. She’d point out the doobies on the desk and smile and I’d hit it and try and forget. I’d go to sleep, and when I woke my eye would hurt and I’d cry. But I couldn’t get out of there. So I kept hitting the doobies.<br><br>I met her in band so when practice ended after weeks I thought I’d never have to see her again. She had another practice without me, but we met up at a pub to talk. She found me hiding behind the bar and she took me outside. She gave me a doobie and I hit it, and I was so concerned with the knife as she sat on it in the dirt. <br><br>It hurt her, but she didn’t say anything until she stood up and the blood got on her pants. She was mad at me, but she said she understood and that we'd go to a quieter place. I was too stoned to be scared of the van. I don’t remember anything about it, except that we were on a lake. It was so quiet and I forgot about everything until band practice. <br><br>I got high. I hit the doobies some more, and I didn’t move. And then she was standing in front of me and I never saw her smile so big. I couldn’t understand what she said but she had a knife. She sat in the chair and put it under her, and she was smiling so big. <br><br>I don’t know how long I was there. I’d hit the doobies too much for too long. I’d sleep for days, I’d sleep for weeks. I’d move some, but I couldn’t get out of there. I’d get high and I’d go to sleep. I woke to get high again and I couldn’t move. She’d sit in the chair and smile. I don’t know how long I was there.<br><br>I don’t remember anything but the lake and the room and the doobies. I don’t remember anything about my life before her. I don’t remember anything about my life before I got high. <br><br>I don’t know how I got home. I don’t know how long it took me to get home, or how much I got high along the way. When I got home, I took a nap. I got up, and did the dishes. As I looked through the window, I looked out at the lake. I felt the weight in my head again, and I knew I needed to get high. <br><br>I went to the living room and I smoked my bong. When I blew it too hard, it exploded. I reached to touch my chin and my hand came away bloody but when I looked I couldn’t find any cuts at all in it but the water from the dishwasher had an orange tint. I went back to the living room and canvassed the room to see if there was anyone else there but I was alone. <br><br>I sat on the coffee table and dipped my hands in the water at the bottom of the bong. I cupped my hands to bring some water to my face and when I opened my eyes I could only see out of the left one. I opened my right eye and the water gushed out of it. I shrieked. I didn’t know what to do so I sat there on the coffee table and cried. I sat there, holding the water against my face as it gushed out of my eye, until I heard some noise in the kitchen.<br><br>I went to the kitchen, still crying, and there was my cat, standing in the sink. “Oh no little kitty,” I said. “I feel so bad for you. I know how you feel!” He turned and looked at me, and his face was so obvious that I had brought him into this world. I knew that I had to do the right thing. I reached to pick him up so I could give him a good pet before I had to kill him, and then the blood from my hands stained his fur. <br><br>That was too much for me. I started screaming, sobbing as I stood there in the kitchen, holding my cat in my arms, the water from my eye and the blood from my hands ruining his fur. I didn’t know what to do, I just cried. I was so hazy, my head swimming, but I knew I needed to do the right thing. I couldn’t let him drown like that. <br><br>I knew I had to get the knife, and I reached out to touch the sheath at my side.