It's nearly impossible to overcome the horrid and loved images, events, and times that seem to have been the building blocks of what has become of me, who I am today.
Every little seemingly meaningless occurrence in one’s life someday will have an impact.
The first years of your life are everything. Parental influence is everything.
What did I see as a child? I saw my father a slave to the needle, vomiting on the couch, shooting up in the car, the blood running into the needle as his eyes closed.
Many of my thoughts seem to contradict each other. I’m in my own mental war with myself.
Meth does not define me. I hate to love it.
My respect for Meth and the potential it carries is beyond words.
The way that it can overpower someone.. Power that has gripped me, and pursued it even whilst staring into the face of death – head on...
Meth made me different person, with a different personality, a whole new character, while the true you is still present, but being locked up behind a barrier that prevents any and all of your former morals, personalities, and beliefs from playing any role within this new person. A person you never pictured yourself becoming. The thing you said you’d never be.
A person who sleeps with men for money. Drags others willingly into a course of addiction without regret. A person who drives their own mother to depression and their own father to suicide. A person who just doesn’t give a damn about anything but their fucking pipe.
Meth creates a glass wall, leaving you at times able to see through and see what you used to be but never able to become it. All advice from other people will be denied and furiously retaliated because of this entirely different person that you now are.
It’s when you finally see a glimpse of the person you used to be – that you realise you are addicted. For some this never even happens. It didn’t to me for five years. Now it has; and I wish I remained oblivious. It’s easier not to care.
Every little seemingly meaningless occurrence in one’s life someday will have an impact.
The first years of your life are everything. Parental influence is everything.
What did I see as a child? I saw my father a slave to the needle, vomiting on the couch, shooting up in the car, the blood running into the needle as his eyes closed.
Many of my thoughts seem to contradict each other. I’m in my own mental war with myself.
Meth does not define me. I hate to love it.
My respect for Meth and the potential it carries is beyond words.
The way that it can overpower someone.. Power that has gripped me, and pursued it even whilst staring into the face of death – head on...
Meth made me different person, with a different personality, a whole new character, while the true you is still present, but being locked up behind a barrier that prevents any and all of your former morals, personalities, and beliefs from playing any role within this new person. A person you never pictured yourself becoming. The thing you said you’d never be.
A person who sleeps with men for money. Drags others willingly into a course of addiction without regret. A person who drives their own mother to depression and their own father to suicide. A person who just doesn’t give a damn about anything but their fucking pipe.
Meth creates a glass wall, leaving you at times able to see through and see what you used to be but never able to become it. All advice from other people will be denied and furiously retaliated because of this entirely different person that you now are.
It’s when you finally see a glimpse of the person you used to be – that you realise you are addicted. For some this never even happens. It didn’t to me for five years. Now it has; and I wish I remained oblivious. It’s easier not to care.
