I feel like I've got my addictions packed away in a little box and stuffed in the back of my closet. I'm not acting on them now, but they are always back there trying to get out. Every time I give in, I regret it. I make a conscious choice sometimes as I did last time to sabotage myself. I remember thinking that recovery is kind of boring, so let's stick our hand on the hot stove just to make sure it can still feel.

And the reason is always that I thought it would be good this time, like it was good the first few times. So I never quite throw the box away. Besides, I never learned how to really enjoy anything else. Then there is the deeper motive, getting to die without the fuss and bother of suicide. My few OD attempts were done with this idea of hoping I wouldn't wake up. Then I change my mind and start breathing again or whatever. It's a fine mess I've gotten myself into.

At least I've still got my music