Honestly Speaking: Growing Up Is A Decision

A lot of people think that their problems are the worst in existence; I harbor no such illusions, but recognize that my troubles are mine, so they have priority over anyone else’s. Because I have to live as me. I don’t get a choice

So here’s the thing, I stopped taking drugs, for the first time in a while I stopped taking drugs and it’s boring, and it makes me restless, my confidence in regards to sex has plateaued, and my weekends have stopped leaking into my weeks. Time moves slower, I have no structure and no routine which means I have nothing to get out of bed for, I’ve stopped enjoying music, I’ve stopped enjoying music and music is now simply a distraction whenever I have to venture into the outside world, to overcome the anxiety, the crippling anxiety which gives me panic attacks.
So I decided to cook, authentic sweet and sour chicken and white rice, Gnocchi and Pesto Rosso, Sweet Potato Fries and Baconnaise, Stir fry, Carbonara, Teriyaki Salmon. Oh and there’s the Mint Cream Chocolate, and the Homemade Chocolate Frapuccino’s which are starting to make it difficult for me to breathe after eating, and the Crisps, Apples, Haribo and Cookies that I microwave for 30 seconds to make soft and gooey. OH THE FOOD, 4 times a day, because I wake up at 11am, eat breakfast then lunch at 1pm which means I’m hungry at 5pm and have my last meal followed by sweet snacks at nine o’clock.
But mostly I’m just so boreddddddd. Nobody ever tells you how boring the in-between parts of life can be, you know, the parts where you can barely afford a night out and even if you could you don’t drink so you’d take drugs which you decided to not do.
So I bought a pack of Cocodamol and took them, and then bought more packs and took more, until I decided that was stupid and I was replacing one drug for another, only this time, I was physically addicted.

Came off those, thinking health, health, health, as a mantra to make it worth it. Health! And as the withdrawal waned I was propelled back into boredom, only this time, my body feels strange.
I put on 3 stone in like 2 and a half months, my chest is tight, and my body is heavy, my bladder feels tiny, my heart feels like it’s being tickles, I have a lump in the roof of my mouth, my headaches all the time, my blood feels thicker in my veins I’m convinced I have diabetes, I have a constant sore throat further back than it usually is, the milk is definitely making it a struggle for me to breathe whenever I drink more than 450ml, only now, I don’t take drugs. I had the usual gay HIV freak out, but tested negative. Thank GOD. I want to be healthy but I can’t tell if I’m a hypochondriac or if it’s just too late to be healthy.
LIFE.

So now my boredom is being occupied by panic, and self resentment for letting myself fall so far when I know my own potential. And even worse, doubting my potential.
I’m angry at my mother for the way things were left
And I’m angry at the world for being so broken. The larger part of me craves the apocalypse, while the smaller part of me is planning ways to make things better, the smaller part is where I put my focus, the larger part always fuels my insomnia.
All I want from life is a purpose that I can resonate with. I don’t think working like a dog for a billionaire franchise peddling things that people don’t need to people that can’t afford it, to get into debt to benefit the banks, that fucked us over, in order to take home just enough to cover rent bills, food, and travel. I’m not that bitch, and to me, that is the antithesis of life.
If I have to spend the majority of my life working to the bone to survive, my work has to at least make a positive contribution to the world or what is the point, right?

And then I think about when I become to old to work and I don’t have a pension, then I feel happy that at least then, this 51,000 worth of debt with be written off. I’ve resigned myself to never owning my own property, even better, I don’t see the point in it, I don’t want kids until I can see that the world is better than when I was one, and I won’t bring one into the world if I can’t support it.
Then my thoughts eventually come full circle and I start panicking that I won’t even make it to 40 years old because of my body that now feels more like a prison than my own.
NIGHT.

 

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now
Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now

Things could change any day now
I could change any day now
ME.

DRUGS?

 

I made changes instead of taking drugs, I stopped the cycle, but I don’t feel much better for it. I don’t have loads of overzealously driven people around me, or the kind of friends that want to make it their life’s mission to be more than just mediocre. I can’t be mediocre, because if I am, what was it all for. Pressure mounts on myself and I don’t know how to step forward. So I won’t, I’ll just wait for opportunity to find me. under the duvet, Grey’s Anatomy binge in session. But no drugs in sight.

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