I feel like I’m starting this blog a little late in the junky game. At 29, I’ve been at this opiate thing for over half of my life now with a little more than nothing to show for it.
There’s quite a lot to be said in being a veteran user of drugs, and even moreso in living long enough to see what lies in the wake of your habit. Some nights, I lay awake in the wonderment of why I’m so lucky, still alive, and not in prison. Other times I wonder why I’m so unfortunate to even have to ask those questions; shouldn’t I instead be marveling at the fact I’m significantly unlucky in having to live a life where I appreciate the bad things just because they’re happening to me?
I suppose in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t really matter either way; I am what I am and nothing is going to change that, short of a winning lottery ticket or some other supernatural event. I guess the question I’m ultimately looking to answer throughout this process is what is it that keeps me coming back for more? Now, I’m sure there are countless twelve-step cliches that one could apply to such a question. I’m willing to bet there’s enough ‘just-say-no-mentality’ bullshit to drown me in it for a week. And I’m damn near one hundred percent that you’ve already got an opinion of your own on the matter. (I guess we’ll just wait and see?)