Saturday, November 3, 2012

Bars and Scars


There is a certain allure to being out of our minds in such a manner that feels good, or at least an offer of the relief from life in general.  It's what sucks us in and spits us out, and chew on our souls all over again.  There is a price for all of this of course, and it seems we will go to any length or overcome any obstacle in place in order to continue to feel "better" or "well."

An illusion of course.

I don't think drugs are as bad as our feeble government makes them out to be.  Who are they to tell me what I put inside of my body? We are not babies.  We can learn from our own mistakes, thank you, not yours.

However, I am not one that keeps the balance very well.  Temperance is often passed my ability to practice.  So despite my resentment, I continue in my recovery the best I can.  I can do this without rehab, without juggling my prescriptions (or abusing them), driving myself insane and without looking back to relapse.  My will is set.  Though my mind is always a fog of chatter and the itty-bitty-shitty-committee, I suppose my state of mind falls into the mental health community's hands.

Still contemplating calling "BULLSHIT" but hey, we take what we can get, reap what we sew and step back into the cycle of life, fully intending not to run away, but participate with zeal.

All the pieces don't fit, but I really didn't give a shit.  I never wanted to be like you, but for all I aspire I am really a liar and I'm running out of things I can do.
Ghost out

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