This is not ment as an offensive post to anyone and i am sorry if you somehow feel offended but i am sure most in here can relate.
Short-lasting stimulant for 16 hours, re-dose every 1 hour.
Very last line consumed 20 mins ago, about to crash, which means no motivation to do ANYTHING what so ever, depression from HELL, cravings worse than 2 mgs of xanax in a 6 month long benzo binge. Slight psychosis kicking in, we all love that while crashing 500 mp/h into zatans mouth. Closing my eyes is of course useless – HPPD gets much affected by the speedy stimulation combined with the classic jittery and jelly nausea from the top of my head all the way down to my little toe.
Writing on this document will be worthless in 20 minutes, although it helps writing it down and sharing it with fellow polydrug addicts. If you ever read this in a state I am perceiving very soon, you’re not alone.
Ping! My friend says hi on IM, I say bye and sign the fuck out of that happy slappy shit.
I sit in bed breathing heavily out lifting my right hand up to my forehead, hopelessly stroke my hand all the way down on my cheek eventually landing at my chin, while I hold my hand still there for a second and ungently pull the the hair on my newly trimmed beard looking hopelessly out in the air, above the laptop screen.
What I see behind this screen is a fucking orange wall with white curtains infront of it so the sun is visible and only there to make me feel guilty, and those cheap ass fucking curtains just makes me pissed, why would anyone want curtains that welcomes the sun 8 AM in the morning!? Now these ridiculous curtains starts to make slight patterns with their tiny black stripes on, I know what’s going to happen if I keep looking so I stare at this piece of marvelous art instead and keep writing.
Oh boy, this I going to be bad…
I obviously consumed 3.75 mgs of etizolam while tweaking, now I have 0.25 mgs left. Now that is a fucking great job. You have done this 50 times before and you still fall in that same trap, over and over again. Sometimes I question myself if it’s even me doing these brain-dead actions.
So, right now i don’t know how we’ll handle this one, because they sure as hell get worse every time. Now this motherfucking crash I am going to try and battle by just sitting on a chair and stare at the wall, a wall without any pattern. And I won’t fucking get up and move around till it’s over because I will only get even more depressed the more bullshit I see around me.
Fuck me to tears, here we go.
Short-lasting stimulant for 16 hours, re-dose every 1 hour.
Very last line consumed 20 mins ago, about to crash, which means no motivation to do ANYTHING what so ever, depression from HELL, cravings worse than 2 mgs of xanax in a 6 month long benzo binge. Slight psychosis kicking in, we all love that while crashing 500 mp/h into zatans mouth. Closing my eyes is of course useless – HPPD gets much affected by the speedy stimulation combined with the classic jittery and jelly nausea from the top of my head all the way down to my little toe.
Writing on this document will be worthless in 20 minutes, although it helps writing it down and sharing it with fellow polydrug addicts. If you ever read this in a state I am perceiving very soon, you’re not alone.
Ping! My friend says hi on IM, I say bye and sign the fuck out of that happy slappy shit.
I sit in bed breathing heavily out lifting my right hand up to my forehead, hopelessly stroke my hand all the way down on my cheek eventually landing at my chin, while I hold my hand still there for a second and ungently pull the the hair on my newly trimmed beard looking hopelessly out in the air, above the laptop screen.
What I see behind this screen is a fucking orange wall with white curtains infront of it so the sun is visible and only there to make me feel guilty, and those cheap ass fucking curtains just makes me pissed, why would anyone want curtains that welcomes the sun 8 AM in the morning!? Now these ridiculous curtains starts to make slight patterns with their tiny black stripes on, I know what’s going to happen if I keep looking so I stare at this piece of marvelous art instead and keep writing.
Oh boy, this I going to be bad…
I obviously consumed 3.75 mgs of etizolam while tweaking, now I have 0.25 mgs left. Now that is a fucking great job. You have done this 50 times before and you still fall in that same trap, over and over again. Sometimes I question myself if it’s even me doing these brain-dead actions.
So, right now i don’t know how we’ll handle this one, because they sure as hell get worse every time. Now this motherfucking crash I am going to try and battle by just sitting on a chair and stare at the wall, a wall without any pattern. And I won’t fucking get up and move around till it’s over because I will only get even more depressed the more bullshit I see around me.
Fuck me to tears, here we go.
