Addiction?

I certainly chose addiction in terms of what I surrounded myself by: the literature of De Quincy, Baudelaire, Burroughs, and many more. I chose all of this. And, I think, looking back, it was always going to be impossible to separate my ‘academic interests’ from my personal life. This literature transported me into the world that I never thought I would be a part of. But, I can’t complain. At this minute in time, I’m much happier than I was before. I still accept the inevitable like how I’ll die alone, how nobody will ever love me, how nobody can really understand my mind because I won’t allow them to. But that’s all okay; because the key theme here is loneliness, and since we’re born alone and die alone, loneliness and solitude must be the most natural things/states in the universe, if not the most.

I would never class myself as an ‘addict’. But, today it dawned on me, that other people could see me as exactly that, an addict. I drink every time something bothers me, and that’s a lot. And I love the way opiates (weaker ones) make me feel. I turn to both of these things whenever I feel down, or get bored, or just feel like I ‘deserve’ a treat. But I tell myself I have it under control. Do I? Maybe not. I mean, I haven’t gone without either of these substances for such a long time, that I don’t know I’d cope without them. I never really feel like I enjoy life, and these substances help me come to terms with that. In my next few posts, I’m going to type up passages of my ‘journal book thing’ that detail my descent into whatever this is, and I can guarantee that most people will probably see me as some kind of self-pitying, self-destructive, idiot.