I’m so fucking sick of saying I’m sorry when I’m the one collapsed on the ground.

When you finally work up the nerve to inhale powder up your nose or stick a needle through your arm, that’s when you know you’ve gone too far. You’ve taken the road you promised yourself you’d never go down. That’s okay. Just make sure to eventually promise yourself you’ll find your way back. You’ll thank yourself later. Drugs will never feel better than finally learning to respect yourself enough to move on and keep fighting.

The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

addiction is hell but being sober is worse

Drugs are the fucking devil but the coolest friend ever. A dangerous psycho bitch, but a therapist of sorts. It’s both terrible and great. Until you find yourself gasping for breathe because you’ve fucked with it for so long. I saw my whole life at that point, I saw who I used to be and came back to this shell of a human. Drugs killed a lot of me, but it helped me find myself as well. I see things a little clearer, I look deeper into people because I wish someone had just saw me instead of just seeing a junkie.