druqgs

When I look back on my life, I blame drugs for the way it's never really worked out. Not always entirely, but for the most part, I do. I wonder then, why I still do them, after how much I've had robbed from me because of them, and as they slowly start to take from me the only thing I have left (my looks) I contemplate of what importance they ever were to me. Or what purpose I thought they served, and what they actually were serving. I find that I'm a coward for not facing up to life's problems, and for not being able to accept myself, and an idiot for letting something as simple as euphoria escalate into a life sentence.

This week I have been called a number of things, mainly anorexic, but all reference to my weight and how tired I look. Ming told me I looked like a tired, over worked dad in my new Facebook photo.

I feel fed up hopelessly trying to find work, paranoid that they all know who I am, or someone is working against me. I am a constant mistake being made.

I also feel fed up of having to cancel and decline things, especially around Halloween. I can't go to Fran's Halloween party, I can't go anywhere. I can't do anything. I can't even go downstairs to relax without my mom getting her fucking iPad out to talk jobs and to nag about 'what to do tomorrow'.

So am thinking to stop but really stop, shut away for a while, but it's that reclusion that scares me, I am not making a point with that, I can't keep going on like this. If nothing ever goes right for me, and this year is a prime example, then have drugs ever helped? Not really. Then why keep doing them?