I am an addict. It doesn’t really matter what I’m addicted to; it’s all the same. Women, booze, heroin, meth…the addiction remains the same. When you first start, you still feel like a person. You may have some pretty rough reasons for picking it up, but nothing can compare to the reasons you can’t put it back down.

It’s like you start out whole, or at least something close to it, and you sell a piece of your soul to the devil with every fix. You chip away little slivers of yourself until all that’s left is a cold soul. You check your pulse now and then, wondering if there’s still a heart within your chest.

That’s not so bad until it’s all you’re left with. People don’t seem to understand that addiction is enjoyable; you wouldn’t be hooked if it wasn’t. Eventually, however, you have a moment of clarity, that brisk morning where you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you’re not sure who you’re looking at.

The change is in the eyes. The eyes tell you what the rest of you hides. The eyes show the experiences, the loss, the pain, and most importantly, the self-loathing.

At a certain point, that’s all that remains. And that is where I am.

There came a day for me where I stopped doing it for the pleasure and started doing it because it made me feel something; it was better than not feeling anything at all. When I went without, I couldn’t avoid my emptiness. I wound up just staring at the wall, contemplating the nothingness I had become.

It’s all I have anymore. I chased away all my friends, scared away all my family, and now this is all I have left to my name.

It’s not a sickness. It’s not a disease. I can’t go to the doctor and get a shot, and then suddenly be all better.

It’s not weakness, either. I’m not weak; I’m broken.

This is the outward expression of something that has lain dormant in me for a long time. My addiction is evidence that the decay inside my soul is so rampant that it affects my body as well as my mind. It controls my actions; I used to despise the fact that I let it turn me into this. Now, I don’t give a damn.

This…thing, this monster inside me, I know it will be the end of me. This is going to kill me one of these days. The sad thing is I’m perfectly okay with that. I mean, I’m practically dead already. Inside, I am empty; it’s just my body that carries on.


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