Confessions of a Junkie

He loved being high. He liked being under the influence. Speed was his drug of choice. Amphetamines were the poison he craved. He liked the feeling when the drug kicked in. There were times when the rush was so great, he felt dizzy, and thought he would collaspe when he bent over trying to mentally run from the sensation.

He had always been creative. He thought that when he was high, the effects of speed tapped into his talents. He felt smarter, and more focused in whatever endeavor he chose to partake in.

His senses were hightened, he was more aware of the inner individuality of creating. He was inside the core of his artistic talent. He was inside of all that there was of it. He went inside his psyche to dissect the creative process of self-expression.

He could understand why he saw the world through an artistic view point. The higher he was, the further down he dove into himself. He lived inside of his mind. Was it half imagination, and half escape? Whatever it was, it was real to him. He explored his psychological makeup, and his personality. At least, he thought he did. Why did the creativeness cover, and coat his brain? Sometimes it felt like it was too much work being high. He thought too much. His brain was scrambled with unanswered questions that voluntarily kept repeating themselves over in his mind.

He was revved up. His mind went faster that he could live through it. He was bored with the dull moment of being in the present reality, when he didn't have the drug saturating his brain.

Everything was amplified. Was his sense of humor keener? He always was quick witted. Yes, even he thought he was funnier when he was high. There were times that he was. He knew he was. Everybody laughed. He had always been an introvert. The amphetamines brought him out of his shell, some what.

Deep down, he knew he was running around in circles. He wasn't really relating to people. The more drugs that he took, caused him to end up doing a horrible job of communicating with people. He was a funny person, but the humor that he exalted was catty. It bit people. He was totally oblivous to others feelings. His words were caustic. He became unaware of his senseless remarks. Some people would pad their reactions to him, shooting back with strange insults. They made no sense to him. He would take their words the wrong way, never seeing that he had started the arguement in the first place. It would hurt him, hearing the things that others would remark to him, in a defense to his cruel words, He would just laugh at first, but later he would have to make an effort to think about what someone had said to him.

Why were people being so cruel? His thought process ran amok. He never believed he said anything wrong. Maybe if he could just find the right person whose sense of humor meshed with his, he knew he would be allright. Find the people he could joke around with. People he could laugh with, and neither one would mentally pick each other apart for their behavior, or choice of words.

He didn't really have to know someone to like them. He loved simple absurdity. He was this way to begin with. He needed to be intertwined within the comedic minds of others, whether he was high, or not.

He was stimulated by interacting with others on such a sublime level. He had an addictive personality, and he would become addicted to people that he liked. Mentally obsessed, as he delved further into clicking with certain people.

After all, he was stimulated. At least his central nervous system was. He was convinced that this was the real him. He came out of his shell. He was an extrovert now. He could further enjoy the humor in people. If they were funny, he liked them.

Someone told him once, that it is only funny for so long. He thought it would be funny forever. If only the person who had made that remark to him was more in tune with the funniness that surrounded them. He said to himself, they are the one that doesn't have a sense of humor. He knew that person took speed. He deducted that the drug affected people differently, according to their personalities.

Did people react to the chemical in different ways, because of the reasons why they were taking it? Maybe that was the reason, and not having anything to do with their personality. If they were trying to erase the anger they felt about something that had happened to them, then why didn't they enjoy the high on a lighter note? Some people seemed to only become angrier. He could relax, and let speed guide him through the creative process.

He was more disciplined, and driven during the bouts of the art that he created. He told himself that he had a more constructive use of amphetamines. He wasn't tapping into anger, he relished in the feelings that blossomed into producing something.

If he could find the right people to around, he would be satisfied. People who were just as high in humor as he was. Only they weren't high on drugs. He didn't want to be judged, or called out on his actions, and behavoir. He wanted to be accepted just as he was, without having to explain himself. He didn't care if someone thought he was on drugs. He lived in his ivory tower of escape.

There were people who saw through his mask. They saw the erractic behavior as self-medicating, and they realised he was deadening his stance on life. He felt no need to be pitied. He was having a great time. He was the star of his own comedy show that was inside of his head. He certainly didn't feel any culpability. He wasn't at fault, he wasn't doing anything wrong to anybody. Others didn't see him in the same light. They wondered why he wasn't in control. Why couldn't he wake up, and see his destructive ways? Where was the need coming from for him to be so self abasing? Others felt abashment for him. He was spiraling into horrible destructive ways.

He would see the light, when the drugs wore off. He would crash and burn. He saw through the smoke and mirrors, but he didn't let himself stay on that side of the fence for long. He would take a pill, and float back into wonderland.

He kept up the charades for several years. He did kick the habit, after the first time he was addicted. He became addicted two more times. There were quite a few years in between the first, and the second time he decided to get back on speed. It seemed like the third time he got back on it, was the worst. He also knew that he was hooked on it for life. He was a lot older now, and he was at the age where he was more in tuned within his own life. He wasn't as curious about a lot of things at this stage in his life. The need to connect with people on such a silly level was waning.

He was now using it for different feelings. He experienced a repressed memory. He now had to live with how he had treated others. He had to live with how he had stomped, and crushed his own feelings. He had denied himself any real feelings years ago. The memories that came back to him, were unpleasant, and now he needed to deaden himself again. He didn't like being a junkie, but it sure beat feeling any pain. He could sugar coat his whole life while on drugs to whatever was coming towards him from any direction.

Why was he so scared? Why had he experienced depression? He never was a person that was exceptionally happy. He could see humor in everything, but it was so much easier to be numb against the harshness of reality. He was analytical. Everything bothered him. The escape into drugs was too tempting. He wasn't calm either on, or off drugs. He knew he didn't have to feel anything on speed.

The spurts of erractic behavior are still imminent, as he is still achieving the same results from the implied drugs. He should be wiser, he should learn from his experiences. He still snuffs out the knowledge of prior tragedies, as he escapes into illusions of a life that could have been. He's a junkie. He's only human, he's passible. He just doesn't want to try to illume any situation.