Today is one of those days .... I want to get high.
I want to escape.
I don't want to feel.
I am tired, so tired, overworked, and discouraged.
Alone and afraid.
I get so mad at myself for feeling this way; my life is going really good. Things could be so much worse; I could have no home, no food, no future. What is wrong with me? Why am I so self defeating? What is this allure of a drug that nearly killed me? Hiding won't do me any good, it won't make me "feel" better, it won't make me energetic; it will destroy again. It will rape me; it will cause turmoil and disgust and hopelessness.
Instead of doing what I am supposed to do: ignore, talk about, work through the urge, I am romanticizing. The needle slides into my vein like butter, the dark omniscent blood flows into the syringe and as I push the plunger the heroin slams into me like a roaring freight train. I feel it's warmth from the top of my head down to my toes. I am awashed in pleasure, no feeling, no anxiety, love and ... death.
I have to stop this. I need to stop this. I don't want to stop this.
Somedays I really HATE being a recovering drug addict. I hate this battle that I have to endure. Fighting myself is so difficult; but I must do it. I must not let It win again.
I imagine what my life will be like if I were to get high today. It is not the picture I want to see. I will not go back there. I will talk about this ugly feeling and I will not pick up the needle. I am safe again.