Does anyone else think they are doing drugs wrong? I got used to weed but never that whole massive hit look at me bong bong. Last weekend I supposedly tried coke for the first time. I say supposedly cause I did some after the guys got caught in the bathroom (honestly how obvious is it when three grown men go to the can at the same time) and did that rub in the teeth thing I always see in movies. It tasted like baking soda to me and I didn’t feel hype or queer like I thought it would go down. If a spliff gives me that old time flashback dig into me feel then I figured cocaine would do a whammy and let out the Hyde beast. At some point I crave to let it loose, get drunk or high and I just want to be that reckless but sorta sensible hellfish, not a care not a whimper, most people must feel the same way and drop the restricting strings of formality and social contracts.
I think watching and reading American Psycho made me more inclined to try it, and also see if I became a raging asshole like some characters do and some doofusy malcontents at bars and clubs I’ve been to. Strangely my friend talked about being searched at clubs but I never had that not that I can recall. Not like I clubbed or lounged so much but my jovial face must have given me a pass or something, but security stories from colleagues about snatching spliffs and baggies from women’s underwear is a sordid and funny mental image.
But addiction never really ends and being careful about the next substance or hobby-cum-obsession is always in the mind, dancing with the windmills that turn ever so. Sometimes I think the reasons for addictions afflicting people are vast but it also happens to give you an extra purpose for yourself, a reason to continue on that progressing path. All the metaphysics and spiritualist and positive thinkers talk of enlightening the self, the original Aryans from India thing, this whole make me better make myself better doowop that I made sporadically happen throughout the annoyingly lengthy years. Withdrawal in any form sucks and not having the crutch or the comfort makes time last so so long. It’s like watching your friends’ improv show or reading their screenplay.
The overcoming of the addiction or return to my so called life is the motivating force, it can keep you here and now because you want to go out swinging, you don’t want to be beaten by this bullshit thing that wraps itself around you and chokes your spirit. These mesmerizers make us weak so we push ourselves to be stronger and tell them to fuck off, again and again and again like that creepy ice cream man who asks if we want to see the back of the truck. Every little beat back helps, reminds you you can actually fight and prosper or heal slightly from the sickness, the coil around the neck. Frustrating and draining and life becomes full of told you so’s and be good Tanyas talking about how you’ll feel better, later, much later than the now. Feel like crap, feel good, feel odd then nothing for a while. It’s a drawn out performance that could play continuously in scarred hands and hearts; losses aplenty and numbers don’t lie. Lie to me.