A perverse amount of time has passed since I have been able to come here and document the pathetic nature of my life... or what passes for the excuse of living life. I am indeed not living, rather I am nothing more than a slave to addiction, torment and debauchery. Within these walls of script, that have outlined the nature of my various failures, crimes and transgressions, you've become familiar with the monster that wears the face of humanity and mingles among the living. Most of the events written within, require some deduction and thought to fully appreciate their significance and meaning. This will not be the case today. For the message I have to share today, needs not the lattice and veiled approach... the dirt upon my face and the spittle foaming in the corners of my lips speak for itself.
About three months ago, I returned to the rabbit hole and the denizens within... once again engaging in the dance of substance abuse. They welcomed me passionately, as I returned to the embrace of lost lovers... the orgasm of flesh and mind, as the drugs consumed any remaining remnants of pride and self-worth. The affair did not end there, for it has become a daily exercise of humiliation and debasement. The seductress of choice this time around is opiates... more specifically, Dilaudid. Once I awake for the day, within moments I've ingested enough to send my body into a nodding delirium. The ecstasy washes over me and the foot race ensues... running frantically from the stress of the day and the demons that devour my remaining sanity. Once the slightest sign of sobriety approaches, I return desperately to the bedroom floor of my mistress and expose my milky flesh in exchange for another dose of orgasmic bliss. The dance continues all day long, day after day, without rest and an endless amount of remorse. I've become a whore to my drug and myself... a junkie and an established author of failure.
Of course, all of this is a descriptive way of informing you that I have once again starting abusing drugs. NO, I am not whoring myself out for drugs and there is, in fact, no mistress or drug dealing rabbits. As you already know, I suffer from chronic pain due to some injuries to my back, neck and leg from long ago. It is also well known that even though I was sober for over ten years, I still displayed behavior of a drug addict by hoarding my pain medications. So you see, there is no need to sell my body for drugs or even associate with a drug dealer, because I have a near endless supply of opiates at my disposal. I suppose that's why I chose to abuse that particular drug... availability. As for what lead me down this path, that's a different story entirely. Yes, there were circumstances, but the biggest factor would be weakness. Yes, things were said and certain event transpired, but the decision was ultimately mine and mine alone. No one forced me to start using again... I took that leap all by myself.
When I stopped using drugs before, it became a common occurrence to have people tell me things like, "It won't last" and "Once a junkie, always a junkie". I suppose part of me became accustomed to this attitude from others and their cruelty and ignorance. At the same time, I suppose part of me always remained very sensitive and hurt my these thoughts. Perhaps that's why what followed had such a profound impact on my decision to start using drugs again. For a little over a year now, I've had a very strong desire to have a child of my own.... to raise a family that I had a role in creating. This idea, this thought, has become something that I yearn for greatly. Not too long along, someone very close to me, at the time, told me something very callous and cruel. They said they would never even consider having a child with someone like me, a former drug addict, because they would only return to that lifestyle and ruin the life and childhood of their child. Hearing this, broke my heart and shattered my dreams and desires... as if my face were brutally thrust into a mirror and I was force fed the shards of broken glass. This person supposedly cared for me and called themselves my friend... to hear something so hurtful really had a profound impact on my fragile and limited self-esteem. I was fueled with anger and rage... all of the voices came running back to the front line. "Once a junkie, always a junkie!". I thought to myself, "Why not? Fuck it! Let them be right... I don't give a fuck anymore!". The stress in my life had become unbearable and my hopes of leaving this apartment and living on my own had only become more and more complicated and delayed. So I needed an escape. I needed a way to leave all of this bullshit behind me. So I did. I closed my eyes and said "Goodbye" to my ten years of sobriety and returned to the place I once swore I'd never see again.
So here I sit... three months into this addiction that has a firm grasp on my soul and testicles. I have no one to blame but myself, and truthfully, I don't. I did in the beginning perhaps. But now, it is very clear to me that this was a decision of my own making and design. I'm not comfortable with it, by any means. In fact, I fucking hate it. At first, I was hoping it would just kill me... then I could finally say goodbye to this pathetic excuse of an existence. However, as I've stated countless times before... nothing is ever as simple as we'd like it to be. For now, let's just say I'm no longer satisfied with the idea of dieing from this addiction... it's something I wish to remove from my life, so that I can begin a new chapter. A chapter worth living. But that's a story for another time.
For now, this is all I have to share on the subject. For those of you that consider yourselves my friends... I am truly sorry that I've let you down and become something less than human. For those of you that desire to judge me on my short comings and "knew this day was coming"... go fuck yourselves, you self-righteous, mother fucking leeches.
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