It's funny, I haven't drank alcohol in months, having instead been indulging in what was, at one point in time, a superior intoxicant, and the two shots of bourbon I've consumed so far have gotten me higher and numbed my back pain more than my last 60mg dose of hydrocodone did...
Opiates are deceptive little demons like that. A casual drinker can numb himself into obliteration, and feel the consequences of his actions the very next morning. But, it seems clear to me, there is no such thing as a casual opiate abuser... The consequences of opiate abuse are never fully realized until you're waking up in the middle of the night with mucous dripping from your nose and eyes, your entire body trying to wriggle away from itself in a maddening sensation of starving to death, barely able to push yourself up out of bed to hobble to the toilet before you shit your pajamas...
And that devil is there to stay... There to whisper sweet, flowery nothings into your ear, making you repeat the same cycle of feeding that blissful warmth which has seemingly replaced your very blood, and thence from that ever-diminishing heaven into the ever-increasing hell...
I am, at this moment, despite dipping back into old comforts, "starving to death"... No sympathy from the devil, Mr. Jones... And just a little bit from his assistant, Mr. Daniels, heh... What can I say, it's an abusive love triangle.
Some little part of me still believes there's a way to escape this selfish hell, and wonders how to... But I know another twisted little part of me will always prefer the warmer weather...
If the sin of gluttony had a physical incarnation, it would surely be the opium poppy...
Opiates are deceptive little demons like that. A casual drinker can numb himself into obliteration, and feel the consequences of his actions the very next morning. But, it seems clear to me, there is no such thing as a casual opiate abuser... The consequences of opiate abuse are never fully realized until you're waking up in the middle of the night with mucous dripping from your nose and eyes, your entire body trying to wriggle away from itself in a maddening sensation of starving to death, barely able to push yourself up out of bed to hobble to the toilet before you shit your pajamas...
And that devil is there to stay... There to whisper sweet, flowery nothings into your ear, making you repeat the same cycle of feeding that blissful warmth which has seemingly replaced your very blood, and thence from that ever-diminishing heaven into the ever-increasing hell...
I am, at this moment, despite dipping back into old comforts, "starving to death"... No sympathy from the devil, Mr. Jones... And just a little bit from his assistant, Mr. Daniels, heh... What can I say, it's an abusive love triangle.
Some little part of me still believes there's a way to escape this selfish hell, and wonders how to... But I know another twisted little part of me will always prefer the warmer weather...
If the sin of gluttony had a physical incarnation, it would surely be the opium poppy...
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")