Addict

The desperation of an addict.

I know it only too well. It reeks of regret, nostalgia, and obviously, depression.

It is the feeling one gets when everything can seemingly only go downhill. It is the painful process of realisation and consternation, a pleading desire to not go into the light. The wanting of change – and the stubbornness to not want to pull through. It is a monumental Everest that I don’t have the breath to climb. It is the inane fear of not being able to survive it.

But perhaps this time will be different. Oh, how I will try! But do I want to?

“Although many of us think that we are thinking creatures that feel; we are, in fact, feeling creatures that think.”

I am ashamed of myself. Ashamed of my body’s craving. It is a ridiculous notion to think that my physiological being overpowers my mental one. I simply cannot be that weak! I have the willpower, I have the desire, and I have the shattering glass.

It must end. It ought to have ended before it began, and this is what pains me. I’m done creating futile excuses for my weakness. I’ve experienced the hypnagogic jerk that has reawakened me to who I’ve been.

But I’m better than that.