It’s Funny How Desperate I Am For Genuine Human Connection Despite The Lengths I Go To Avoid It

me: i need to save money me: *gets money* me: *buys drugs*

Me asf

Dude I feel this shit in my soul going through it man

If I relapse

If I relapse, I would lose everything I worked so hard to obtain in the last couple of months. I would not feel the weight of the world, but I would feel an intense wave of disappointment from the ones I love the most. I would let everybody down - I would let myself down. If I take even one xanax bar, I would begin a slow downhill spiral.

 Xanax would turn into cocaine and cocaine would turn into a sheet of crumpled foil in my hand. On the foil would lay goopy yellow chunks of fentanyl, and my fingers would be stained black. My mental health would plummet and I would dive deep into insanity. Once my parents figured out that I have relapsed, they would cut me off financially and I would be left on the streets. My boyfriend would be done with me, and he would break my heart and tell me to leave him alone forever. Without his presence a hole would grow deep within the depths of my heart. I would fill that hole with men and drugs. Since I would be screwed financially, my only option is to leech off of men.

A junkie would whisk me away to his dingy apartment. He would feed me any drug I desired. He would treat me like shit, perhaps even abuse me. I would let him treat me negatively because I would think, “I deserve this.” My hopes and dreams would fade into oblivion. Every day would be the same: Wake up, find drugs, get high, go to sleep. Over and over again. Monotony and chaos. My family would grieve as if I were dead. Hope would dwindle as I twist the pipe. Hope would lessen as I would hold a tooter in between my chapped lips. Hope would decrease as I would snort white powder up my nostrils. The bright light that used to shine on my life would turn to pitch black,

Eventually, I would be dead. True blackness would envelope my gloomy soul. There would be no coming back from death - no more chances, no more rehab, no more therapy, no more meetings. Hope would truly be lost.

I can’t relapse. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t

Addicted to addiction...

The worst part, about being a drug addict, is that you know you’re a drug addict. You know, all your excuses are bullshit. You know, when it’s your addiction talking, not you. You know, you’re hurting those around you. You know, you need help. You know, you’re lost. You know, you’re lying to yourself.

Nobody, sets out to be an addict. You just, wake up on day, as an addict.

I usually say that, the first time I used Meth, I was addicted. That’s not true. The first time I used, I knew, I’d do it again. I wasn’t addicted though. I became an addict, when I used to forget, my problems, my pain, my anguish. I became an addict, when I gave my addiction priority, over the important things, in my life. I became an addict, when I lost almost everything I had, stopped using for a while, then picked up again. Thinking, “It’s been long enough. I’ll be able to stop this time. I don’t have a problem. I was just in a bad place, at that time in my life.” I became an addict, when the strength, of my addiction, out weighed the shame I felt, when I looked at pictures of my kids. At problems, my addiction has caused. At people, who I have hurt. At what I could have done, with my time. My money. My family. . . I became an addict, when I looked in the mirror, asked myself to stop. Then put the piece to my lips, took another hit, and left myself behind…

Blue Xanny bar💎