Dear darkness, I need a drink. I need a cigarette. These nasty little guys that kill you slowly every single day are the reason for some of us to cancel the most recent suicide plans. Heaven knows, drugs would be of no use, was it not that the ever-blood-lusting dude upstairs had not fixed his cannon against self-slaughter.
I’m not a psycho person myself, I’m not even a psychologist, and I don’t know shit about addictions, I’m just a humble practitioner. But what I do know, is that these artificial paradises we get high on are not the problem itself. The real reason we do that is that we cannot keep our shit together, we cannot look at the face in the mirror, our dearest enemy, we cannot stay together, I mean, collectively, we cannot communicate honestly, we cannot love openly, we cannot have sex like normal animals, we cannot even fight anymore.
Our interpersonal relations are just like bouncing bubbles. In each and every one of them there is a universe locked within. But the walls we’ve built over years are too solid to be torn down with words. There is a real communication breakdown. What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. We’re fucked.
Camus got it right: we live in a permanent plague situation here.