alfaromeo1979
Greenlighter
- Joined
- May 24, 2008
- Messages
- 21
"Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone."
It does not matter how many times I assert it in my head, force myself to laugh. I remain acutely aware that my facial muscles are forcing the laugh while my brain protests.
You see, life is bleak... somber. Devoid of meaning. Despite all I've read to the contrary, forcing a smile, exercising, eating well, acting cool, making friends is doing nothing for my well-being. It is all a scam. No amount of forced socialization is going to make me believe the boorish lie that life is AOK.
This is a story about how ssFST has mortally ravaged my soul.
Back in early 2012, my inquisitive, open-minded nature got the best of me, curiosity be damned, as I spent the first $250 of what would later amount to $135,000.00 solely on the substance in question. That's a 135 and five zeros! Had I known then, had I had an inkling of a reservation, of the slightest nagging suspicion, that I was figuratively dipping my toe in a 5 ft 8 deep pit of quicksand (I'm 5 ft 7 inches tall, by the way), I would have definitely thought twice about it. But still done it any way. For you see, I'm of the "try everything at least once before you die" persuasion.
A part of me died that day.
A part of me will die tomorrow, too. Without getting into any of the sordid details, and they are sordid, fast forward 2.5 years, and, despite many an honest attempt, I still cannot shake that simian off my back. I never will.
The systemic destruction of the mind, re-wiring of the reward centers, and decaying of the spirit makes it increasingly arduous to resist the calling of my sweet nectar. It doesn't call discreetly so much as shriek like a Naga Siren. Or Pavarotti performing the Lucia di Lammermoor in Falsetto. I have acquiesced to the fact that the hold my Prima Donna has on me is perpetual; there is no refuse, and there is no respite. I can, at most, put up a meager, symbolic, passive resistance, but...
What hope does a clay hut stand against a looming, 1,700ft tsunami?
Good bye.
It does not matter how many times I assert it in my head, force myself to laugh. I remain acutely aware that my facial muscles are forcing the laugh while my brain protests.
You see, life is bleak... somber. Devoid of meaning. Despite all I've read to the contrary, forcing a smile, exercising, eating well, acting cool, making friends is doing nothing for my well-being. It is all a scam. No amount of forced socialization is going to make me believe the boorish lie that life is AOK.
This is a story about how ssFST has mortally ravaged my soul.
Back in early 2012, my inquisitive, open-minded nature got the best of me, curiosity be damned, as I spent the first $250 of what would later amount to $135,000.00 solely on the substance in question. That's a 135 and five zeros! Had I known then, had I had an inkling of a reservation, of the slightest nagging suspicion, that I was figuratively dipping my toe in a 5 ft 8 deep pit of quicksand (I'm 5 ft 7 inches tall, by the way), I would have definitely thought twice about it. But still done it any way. For you see, I'm of the "try everything at least once before you die" persuasion.
A part of me died that day.
A part of me will die tomorrow, too. Without getting into any of the sordid details, and they are sordid, fast forward 2.5 years, and, despite many an honest attempt, I still cannot shake that simian off my back. I never will.
The systemic destruction of the mind, re-wiring of the reward centers, and decaying of the spirit makes it increasingly arduous to resist the calling of my sweet nectar. It doesn't call discreetly so much as shriek like a Naga Siren. Or Pavarotti performing the Lucia di Lammermoor in Falsetto. I have acquiesced to the fact that the hold my Prima Donna has on me is perpetual; there is no refuse, and there is no respite. I can, at most, put up a meager, symbolic, passive resistance, but...
What hope does a clay hut stand against a looming, 1,700ft tsunami?
Good bye.
