A Promise Isn’t A Promise

These days, it seems my avoidance of drinking alcohol, smoking, or using other drugs is less because of the promise I made to myself and more because I lack access to these things.

From observing my grandfather, it seems being an addict is a free pass to take money from everyone else after blowing all your own. You don’t have to concern yourself with their possible needs because you need their money more than them for your needs. If they temporarily have to go without, it doesn’t matter because you’re not going without. All while being in denial or not realizing you’re an addict.

I can’t say being an addict doesn’t look appealing when I judge by that view. There seems to be little unappealing about it. On top of that, the urge to start is getting stronger with each passing day.

I left home without bathing or eating this morning. Not eating breakfast isn’t unusual for me since I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since I was 17, but not bathing is. I’ve never been frustrated to the point of not bathing, so it’s a first. All I did was put on deodorant. What’s more surprising is I really don’t care.

Yesterday, I had a dream about driving off a bridge and I feel like that’s my brain trying to tell me something I really don’t want to admit, but might be necessary. Unfortunately, my own cowardice prevents that, as it always has when I first began feeling that way several years ago, so it’ll never be reality unless it’s done by someone else’s hand. Truthfully, I feel like all of this is my fault for ever expecting my efforts to lead me anywhere and wasting my time with trying. I’d think the first decade of my life alone would mean I know better than to expect things to get better, but apparently not. To quote a character of an anime I recently watched: I was stupid. So stupid.

I may not keep that promise. It seems to be pointless. I turn to comfort food when I feel so badly, but that hasn’t been helping like it used to. Perhaps alcohol or nicotine or whatever else there is would be the better alternative. It’s certainly better than selling myself on the street, which I’ve also considered doing out of desperation. Really, I best not get into the things I’ve felt desperate enough to consider for money until I manage to find steady paid work (yes, I’m still looking, for some reason even I fail to understand).

At this point, I’m wondering how much longer I can refuse the desperation or the urges to intoxicate myself. How much longer until I finally decide it’s not worth it and break that promise?

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