addicts anonymous

it’s a bit ironic that the last entry was called rehabilitation

it’s 1:48am, i am being reminded that i’m an addict.

the last time i felt it this strongly i crawled on hands and knees all over the apartment looking for a single pill to put me down.

the time before that i tore up the house looking for the bottle of crown royal apple i spotted somewhere in my parent’s apartment (i had already emptied the vintage wine bottles and replaced the contents with water).

when it gets like this, when i need it this bad, not much is off limits, least of all stealing to get my fix.

if i let myself do it, would i ever recover from raiding the medicine cabinet of my impossibly gracious and kind hosts?

no, simply never, so i won’t do it. instead ill write a blog post about how badly i need something that will fuck me up, how the only time i really feel good without that perpetual undercurrent of despair and nausea is when im inebriated and ill nearly chew my finger off while doing it.

it’s a horrid thing when that’s part of your life, the idea that you’ll never feel as good as you know you could without the help of something usually illegal.

it’s so bad that i’m about to pray “help me god, it’s 1:55am and suddenly i’ve never felt a stronger urge than the one i have now to get absolutely trashed, but there’s simply no way i can do so until roughly 2:15pm tomorrow, in 12 hours and 17 minutes. oh god help me”