I so want the quick warming bliss from junk, I want that ability to shoot up and switch off. The soft, warm, happy fuzziness that comes from an armful and the immediacy. That beautiful dislocation between self and surroundings.
The way it makes you feel; content, distant you see everything in the third person like you’re detached from yourself and just to one side of everything that’s going on.
Everything felt better on junk, the sky bluer, the people nicer, everything just a little out of sync.
25 years sober, no chasing, not shooting, no more works. When I was doing, I look back to what was going on in my life. I ask myself why was I doing it, there was little or no problems in my life then.
Now I feel that every waking second is a problem, something is going to go wrong, not with me but those who depend on me. They’ll be the eruptions, spills, arguments the shouting, crying, the high pitch screeches that’s like dry chalk on a blackboard.
And for a few moments, I want to be transported to bliss, before wading back into the warzone.
I guess what I’m saying here is: I’ve often wondered what makes people fall off the wagon. Yet here I am contemplating it, for my sake my drug of preference isn’t that easy to get hold off in the early hours when you have had no contact with dealers for years. Sad thing about booze is it’s so bloody easy to get hold of.