Displacement activity. Mania. Depression. Narcoleptic, comatose periods of ennui and anxiety forging an unpleasant cocktail of experiences not often considered in tandem – this was Thursday, Friday and much of Saturday, last week.
How is it that I am STILL craving the meth to such a huge degree, when I have spent years addicted to cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, lsd, ketamine, cat, speed and the more mundane diet pills, yet managed to get off those hooks without much bother? Could it be those WERE really just habits, and meth is my only addiction?
The Eater of Souls, The Destroyer of All, “it distorts and deranges” and still I see only that most beautiful curl of the smoke, the thick, white clouds issuing forth, and with each breath, more identity of the man I once was dissolves into the air, my already tenuous grip on reality slips a little more, the edge becomes the brink, the chaos is now the order and all around me, in the silence, the voices scream out in torrid and tormenting whispers, all the louder for that beguiling silence, for more. In darkness, the smoke curls and coils, and caresses and seduces, and lust – most insatiable and ever-present, unpalatable and priapic, I am rendered a slobbering creature of the most urgent chemical and hormonal reactions, subsiding into a quivvering mass of the flesh , spent, and wasted, in every sense.
I. Am. Meth. Head. Hear. Me. Roar.
© healing.me 2012. All Rights Reserved.