It's a drug
You know it is a drug and you understand it is a drug and yet when you take it you think it feels real. It feels like release and control and the vault of heaven. It tells you all your instincts were right and all your fears were ill founded. It makes you feel sad, but it makes you feel you. Or a little less you. No matter. You reach out, your touch it, and you are transformed.
You are removed from the dirty and endless reality of bills and laundry and delivery notifications and waking up alone. You are suddenly not thinking about another night brushing your teeth, washing your face, and making sure you've let the dog out. You are not thinking, really at all. You are alive, and it's gorgeous.
Here is the thing.
There is nothing wrong with the drug. There is perhaps, even, possibly, nothing wrong with using the drug regularly.
But are you addicted to the drug? Is it recreational or a stop gap? It is pleasure or does it just postpone the pain? Is it for you or in spite of you.
Because the simple reality is that no drug maintains it's potency. You need more and more and sooner or later it is about whatever led you to the drug and that escape and all the bits and pieces you will give up to feel the ghost of that escape. It is not about you.
You can't have one cigarette, and you won't have just one drink when a cigarette or a glass of wine is all you think about.
You won't have coffee with him and talk about life in a nice, civilized fashion and wake up the next morning satisfied.
Each text hits a vein, every smile burns a shadow hole in your retina.
And I bet that shape fits like the last tetris piece as you try to rebuild your heart