This madness must end. Sleeping late, not eating right, smoking too much, crying at comedies, all of these things need to stop. My brain is slowly melting into a chemical soup, drying my pores and sickening my innards. The cravings aren't as bad this week, and though there's not any light at the end yet, at least I'm aware that I'm in the tunnel. Tensing at the smallest provocation, grinning like a maniac, and cold shakes in a warm room. This is hell. Or at least a personal aproximation.
Would I revert back to the drugs and the drink to ease these symptoms? No. The person who did that no longer resides here. That part of me died last Friday along with another. It's lonely here. And cold. And dark. And damp. But it seems fitting that way.
The job should help. It will at least distract me from most everything else. Meet new people, try new things and hope that I don't screw it all up again as is my way. Maybe I'll even meet a grrl, but I'm hardly in a frame of mind to appreciate one. I'd end up showering her with shit and baggage or withdrawing so far inward that she'd resent me. Which of course would lead me to the drink, triggering a craving and three days later, after not sleeping and spending my rent on anphetamines, I'd be back at the start. Looking for a way to get more, going to get my final paycheque and mourning the death of my personality.
No thanks, I'm on an upswing.
I hope.
Fishbait
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