Today, I have been a victim of addiction.
This drug is incredibly irritating. It is sneaky, and leads you on under false pretences, or wishful hoping of what you expect it to provide for you. The prospect of getting the drug is far more rewarding that the actual reality in using it. It comes across as so warm, so inviting, so welcoming, as if it is all you need in life, as long as you have this sanctuary to fall back on, you won't fall apart.
It is deceiving. A hit can be so good, can leave you with a comforting smile on your face, a warm feeling inside, that maybe things aren't so bad, that maybe there could be something worth it there. But that feeling only lasts for a while. The smile fades and you're left wondering whether if you go back to it, would it be the same? You try, and try again, and the relative dependancy is barely related to the feeling of satisfaction that arises from it. That is, you could return to the fateful drug again and again, more and more, and it doesn't guarantee that you'll get anything more out of it, or anything out of it at all, in fact.
But there remains hope. It's happened a few times before, therein lies the possibility that it could quite easily give the same rush again. And indeed, in past experience, it has. Granted, it's not everytime. It's true, that some visits to 'that place' are better than others. But inevitably, you will have a good time again.
However, you can't be so sure when that'll be. You know, if you hold off for longer, it's more likely. But the desire to get it now leads to the desperate clutching at what is in reality, not all that great when it comes to it. Indeed, the idea and hope and prospect of what it could be is far better than what it actually transpires to be. And so you are lulled into this false sense of having a good time, when really, the time you spend apart from it becomes worse in proprotion to the amount of time you spend on a high. Therefore, it doesn't make logical sense.
Yet it is the hope and memory of previous experience that keeps you going. One day, it will be as good as it was before, one day, it may even be better. One day, you might get furthur. Or else you just end up a lonely heap of nothingness, it tearing away at your soul until there's nothing left, and yet, you still hold on, you still want to go back, you still wonder what it's like, you want to repeat the good times. Even if they are few and far between, they still happen, sometimes.
You could stop. You could move on. There are better things. It's not worth it. It's not worth the way you feel waiting for something to come out of it. It doesn't give the same kind of reward that something real, something tangible could have the potential to give.
But it's there, and it's easy to take. It's easy to pretend that it could make you feel better, it's easy to ignore the fact that you could end up feeling worse. Because you want to feel better. And you don't know of any other way that could do it. So you turn to this drug.
On the jukebox: Radiohead ~ High and Dry
This drug is incredibly irritating. It is sneaky, and leads you on under false pretences, or wishful hoping of what you expect it to provide for you. The prospect of getting the drug is far more rewarding that the actual reality in using it. It comes across as so warm, so inviting, so welcoming, as if it is all you need in life, as long as you have this sanctuary to fall back on, you won't fall apart.
It is deceiving. A hit can be so good, can leave you with a comforting smile on your face, a warm feeling inside, that maybe things aren't so bad, that maybe there could be something worth it there. But that feeling only lasts for a while. The smile fades and you're left wondering whether if you go back to it, would it be the same? You try, and try again, and the relative dependancy is barely related to the feeling of satisfaction that arises from it. That is, you could return to the fateful drug again and again, more and more, and it doesn't guarantee that you'll get anything more out of it, or anything out of it at all, in fact.
But there remains hope. It's happened a few times before, therein lies the possibility that it could quite easily give the same rush again. And indeed, in past experience, it has. Granted, it's not everytime. It's true, that some visits to 'that place' are better than others. But inevitably, you will have a good time again.
However, you can't be so sure when that'll be. You know, if you hold off for longer, it's more likely. But the desire to get it now leads to the desperate clutching at what is in reality, not all that great when it comes to it. Indeed, the idea and hope and prospect of what it could be is far better than what it actually transpires to be. And so you are lulled into this false sense of having a good time, when really, the time you spend apart from it becomes worse in proprotion to the amount of time you spend on a high. Therefore, it doesn't make logical sense.
Yet it is the hope and memory of previous experience that keeps you going. One day, it will be as good as it was before, one day, it may even be better. One day, you might get furthur. Or else you just end up a lonely heap of nothingness, it tearing away at your soul until there's nothing left, and yet, you still hold on, you still want to go back, you still wonder what it's like, you want to repeat the good times. Even if they are few and far between, they still happen, sometimes.
You could stop. You could move on. There are better things. It's not worth it. It's not worth the way you feel waiting for something to come out of it. It doesn't give the same kind of reward that something real, something tangible could have the potential to give.
But it's there, and it's easy to take. It's easy to pretend that it could make you feel better, it's easy to ignore the fact that you could end up feeling worse. Because you want to feel better. And you don't know of any other way that could do it. So you turn to this drug.
On the jukebox: Radiohead ~ High and Dry
No comments:
Post a Comment
I like to have my cake and read it too: