Eyes On the Roll
Bluelighter
Just some background first. I'm 22. from '11 to '12 I was heavily addicted to xanax and oxycodone. I'd do 5-10 30 mg ir Roxi's a day, with 3-6 2mg bars with it, every day. I detoxed on my own, by myself in my room, with no medical help, last May (stupid I know, I could have died). I've been clean for 15 months or so.
I have this chronic feeling of emptiness inside of me, and I've always been this way for as long as I can remember. I feel dead, and I always have. I've never found joy in anything. I'm not sad or depressed, I'm just chronically empty, and it's torture. I'm plagued with perpetual boredom. I'm so detached. I can never open up or connect with anyone. I constantly lie, and that's what separates me from everyone, and I can't help it. Trust me, I've tried.
Since I quit the pills, I've been trying to be sober from everything, but I can't. I make stupid, harmful decisions on impulse, and after I've made them, I look back and feel like I was just a passenger watching myself do these things. Just the other night, I bought a gram of coke, .6 of pure mdma, 100mgs of adderall IR, 2 mgs of Rohypnol, and a tab of 150 micrograms of LSD, and did it all in that same night. It's been two days since then, and looking back on the memory that lead up to that, I feel like I wasn't even there mentally, before I took the drugs. It's like I disconnected from my mind, and something inside of me went on auto pilot. It's like I was just a passenger, and I watched it all enfold.
I'm starting to realize that this really is a disease. I can tell myself I'm not going to eat Taco bell because of how bad it is for me, and consciously walk away without a second thought. But it's like, before I even make the decision to buy or take drugs, I'm already gone, disconnected from my conscious.
I never ask for help in real life, because my pride always gets in the way. I always experience brief moments where I tell myself "wow, I need help, really bad", but then that thought disappears and I tell myself I'm fine. Every confession I've ever made about my condition has never given me any foreground, because seconds after I admit that I have a serious, morbid problem, I convince myself that it's nothing that I can't control.
The truth is, I can't control it, and I'm going to end up dead very soon. I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. I don't know what to do about it.
I have this chronic feeling of emptiness inside of me, and I've always been this way for as long as I can remember. I feel dead, and I always have. I've never found joy in anything. I'm not sad or depressed, I'm just chronically empty, and it's torture. I'm plagued with perpetual boredom. I'm so detached. I can never open up or connect with anyone. I constantly lie, and that's what separates me from everyone, and I can't help it. Trust me, I've tried.
Since I quit the pills, I've been trying to be sober from everything, but I can't. I make stupid, harmful decisions on impulse, and after I've made them, I look back and feel like I was just a passenger watching myself do these things. Just the other night, I bought a gram of coke, .6 of pure mdma, 100mgs of adderall IR, 2 mgs of Rohypnol, and a tab of 150 micrograms of LSD, and did it all in that same night. It's been two days since then, and looking back on the memory that lead up to that, I feel like I wasn't even there mentally, before I took the drugs. It's like I disconnected from my mind, and something inside of me went on auto pilot. It's like I was just a passenger, and I watched it all enfold.
I'm starting to realize that this really is a disease. I can tell myself I'm not going to eat Taco bell because of how bad it is for me, and consciously walk away without a second thought. But it's like, before I even make the decision to buy or take drugs, I'm already gone, disconnected from my conscious.
I never ask for help in real life, because my pride always gets in the way. I always experience brief moments where I tell myself "wow, I need help, really bad", but then that thought disappears and I tell myself I'm fine. Every confession I've ever made about my condition has never given me any foreground, because seconds after I admit that I have a serious, morbid problem, I convince myself that it's nothing that I can't control.
The truth is, I can't control it, and I'm going to end up dead very soon. I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. I don't know what to do about it.
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