My attempts to save myself and salvage whatever dignity is left
have proven futile. Obviously.
I'm so fucking tired of this constant battle with meth.
I hate it with everything I have.
I don't understand why it haunts me so relentlessly.
I'm at a loss of what to do, anymore.
I COULD try and make myself feel better and less responsible
by relying on statistics as the solution to this unavoidable problem.
How "once you're addicted to meth,
you'll never fully recover from the addiction.
You'll never be able to completely free youself from its grasp." etc.
But I'm not going to focus the blame for my predicament
on (hopefully) inaccurate statistics.
I mean, sure, the chemical engineering of the shit
probably plays some sort of a role in all this.
But I've decided that the majority of responsibility
probably needs to be placed on my pathetic cowardice.
Because I can't even begin to fathom that something as irrelevant
and miniscule as a pile of crystal
can possess such substancial control over my life, on its own.
As many times as this shit's put me entirely off track,
Made me scared of myself,
Practically destroyed every single aspect/relationship of my life,
As many people I've disappointed doing it...
The people I've completely lost, by doing it..
All the wonderful, ambitious people with their whole lives ahead of them,
that I used to love and know so well;
deteriorating into strangers.
The almost unnoticable and frightening decline
from a human being, composed of hope and faith and good intentions..
into nothing, eventually.
Emotionless and dead to everything.
How those few simple, amazing things that used to make me so
undescribably happy, mean nothing now, courtesy of the crank.
How I used to be comfortable in my own skin,
somewhat satisfied with the person i was/was aspiring to be
and now I haven't the vaguest idea who Stephanie is, anymore.
I don't even remember her slipping away.
And I don't know if I'll be able to find her again.
I miss her so much. I want, more than anything, to be able
to rediscover her. Revive her.
I remember when she used to be alive and didn't have to pretend,
to find enjoyment in small things and simple moments.
When she didn't have to try to feel real,
and happiness wasn't so desperately prefabricated.
I don't understand how I can take in all these things,
All these tragic results of the shit,
realize how disastrous and unforgiving it is,
lose everything that really ever meant anything,
watch everything i ever relied on and held close
crumble, right in front of me.
And still continue to do fucking meth.
So what is that saying about me?
If I can't quit, knowing all this, realizing that it's
probably the most dangerous and careless decision
I can make? How do I progress, knowing that if I keep it up, I'm just going
to gradually turn into some empty, lifeless zombie,
or maybe something even less insignificant than that.
What else could there possibly be to shove me in the direction of persuasion?
And why can't this be enough?
Maybe it's not that simple.
But I wish it weren't so impossibly difficult, either.
I hate it. I want nothing to do with it. I have to tell myself
this countless times a day, just to restrain myself from doing
it every day. When I actually do do it, I'm fucking repulsed
and eerily delighted all at the same time. It was never really
even about the drug. It was the high. That artificial, yet
completely fulfilling high that's uncomparable to anything else.
I've experimented with the majority of the mainstream drugs.
The harder shit, I promised myself to only do for the experience.
I'm an extremely curious person. I see experiencing different highs
as a learning opportunity, if you will. Like crack? It wasn't so appealing.
But how could I know where I would go while high on it if I didn't try it?
As stated though, once. And it never proved to be a problem, my method
of adventure. I would even go so far as to say that I prided myself in
how I applied self control. Even when I dipped into
the unpredictable waters of cocaine-and-other-various uppers.
Sure, I wanted to try some things more than once.
But it was against my personally set boundaries. And I didn't.
Then I met Meth.
I'd never seen it before,
hadn't done much research on it,
and was fairly uneducated on the drug.
But I decided to try it, out of sheer curiosity.
It looked so harmless.
I hadn't even the vaguest idea at the time,
that it would ultimately turn out to be the reason
i gave up on everything.
There're really no perfect words to describe it. THE high.
I think people tend to fall under its irresistable spell for different reasons.
It really depends on your personality. And where you're at in life.
My faults and insecurities at that particular time?
I'd never really been a certain person;
Not unsure enough to tread cautiously through everything in life,
but not quite sure enough to put total faith into my instincts and decisions.
I carried a mask around in my pocket;
brandishing it only in discomfort or when my guard felt threatened.
Too shy to expose myself completely,
but ashamed of myself for holding back.
I wanted to be understood and relateable.
But I was too untrusting and paranoid.
They were traits that I'd accepted rather than fought.
Even though I would've loved to be someone else.
An individual without so many awkward qualities,
with the ability to function without being so
pathetically pessimistic and overanalytical.
The meth high,
combined with my insecurities and lack of exposure
ended up surpassing any standards I may have unconsciously set for the
drug. It was a mixture of utter confidence,
finding absolute comfort and appeal in the person i was,
filling several notebooks with everything i'd ever wanted to say,
but could never acquaint my brain and hands enough to cooperate in doing so.
flying through the night at incredible rates of speed, soaring effortlessly
through expansive fields and vast skies.
discovering the answers to the most complex of questions.
pure adrenaline, pumping furiously through the veins,
making even the most irrelevant, stupid things seem
breathtakingly exciting and adventurous.
feeling like a kid, all over again, and thensome.
letting go of animosity towards even my greatest enemies.
forgiving everyone. for anything. for everything.
and finding undeniable certainty, even in the uncertainest
A taste of what it was like to be everything I'd always wanted.
A free spirit. Undescribable beauty in absolutely everything.
All combined into this seemingly simple drug?
My life changed forever.
And now, three years later,
I'm stuck in this constant, seemingly neverending
downward spiral of things, far from where I'd anticipated I'd be at 18.
I'm so lost that I'm not sure of where to even begin searching for myself again.
And I'm sure I'm coming off all bleak and depressing,
but it's just where things seem to be stalling, now.
I don't want to be like this.
i don't want to feel empty.
I just want somebody to help me save myself.
Or maybe I'm just really high.