The highs aren’t as high, but the lows are so, so low.

It’s hell, living here in my head.

White doesn’t even get me high any more. It’s like this eternal “oh just one more hit will get me there”, chasing this unreachable high that never comes, like tomorrow. It’s tormenting me.

My nose is totally fucked. I can see all the way up it and it doesn’t feel like nose any more. It feels too soft and squishy on the inside, and yet strangely dry. Mercifully on the outside it looks relatively normal, there is dry blood around the nostrils and they are subtly deformed in shape under certain lights. But I know it won’t be long until it gets really mashed up.

People ask me, “Why are you doing this? Do you even want to stop?!”

Oh boy. Would I love to stop. I would do anything to stop. There are moments in my addiction where would practically sign off my first born child if only it meant that I could be free of this horrendous illness. (And yes, it is an illness).

I want to stop so much, but it’s so hard. It’s almost too hard. When the world caves in, and my mood swings kick off the one thing that is a constant is drugs. It’s terribly sad to say this, but sometimes it feels like they’re my only friend in the world. They take away the pain like nothing else. They give me ecstasy in a world full of agony.

And I know how bad they are. I know that they’re slowly killing me, my relationships, my future and my academic career. But the fact that, despite knowing all of this, I still continue to do this to myself, exposes how potent the grip of addiction can truly be.

I have every faith I can get clean one day. One day very soon. I want to quit by choice, not circumstance. And I’m so nearly ready, but like every addict, I’m looking for that one last time.

And like tomorrow, it’s never going to come.

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