Here we go…. I can already feel the nostalgia. As I get older the nostalgia almost seems to hurt a little more than the withdrawal. Music brings this on more than anything else. WSB was more than right when he said a sick junky’s best friend is music. There’s literally nothing available that comforts more than music, although I can’t just listen to anything.
Thoughts of Portland, thoughts of summer, feelings of guilt and loss; it’s that feeling of “what a better time I would’ve had if I wouldn’t have been stuffing my pain full of relief”. Like a fucking turkey, I was. Makes it hard to look around and see what kind of life I”ve been living. Makes me feel like I’ve been living in a dreamworld for far too long. Like I’ve been mistreating those around me. Like I’ve let go another few important years of my life, totally lost forever as I’m not a believer of any after.
Feels good, though. Feels good to not be the zombie. I wonder what makes me forget this transission. It must be the pain that comes on shortly after the euphoria of it all.