It was an addiction. The way a gambler could not let go of the slots. The way an alcoholic holds onto their bottle of vodka as if it was their dear life. The way an arsonist just could not stop themselves from lighting the matchstick.
I could not stop. It exhausted me; it burned my every being until I was charcoal, until I was ash. I am a phoenix. For in the next morning, I burn a different light.
It goes on and on and on. It sucks the light out of me, it vacuums me into an abyss.
Every day, I am deeper into this chasm.
The adrenaline that I feel when I do it, it is enough to keep me going. Barely. The consequences are much severe. I am addicted to that adrenaline. The pretences. A secret told to Nobody. A lightless phoenix at the end of the day, it was worth it.
- Saturday, July 15, 2017
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