warmth
Iron
- Joined
- Apr 9, 2025
- Posts
- 161
- Reputation
- 463
people think addiction feels like falling. mine felt like progress. i wasn’t chasing a high, i was chasing efficiency. started with stimulants. low dose, nothing crazy. just enough to focus, to work longer, to not feel like shit. i didn’t take it to escape, i took it to become who i thought i was supposed to be. and it worked. i became sharper. faster. more productive. no more doubt. no more overthinking. everything i hated about myself went quiet. i started doing better, talking better, performing better. people noticed. they liked me more. they had no idea it was artificial. but i did. and i didn’t care.
you don’t stop when you’re winning. even if it’s fake. especially if it’s fake. because the second you stop, you’re left with the real you again. tired, anxious, unfocused. so you keep going. not because you feel good, but because you feel nothing. and nothing is better than being you. by the time i realized it was a problem, it was too late. not because i couldn’t stop, but because i didn’t want to. i missed the version of me that didn’t exist without it. and that’s when you’re really fucked. when you prefer the lie.
hell isn’t pain. hell is function without meaning. performance without soul. it looks like discipline, it feels like control. and no one warns you, because from the outside, you look like you’re finally getting your life together. i’m clean now, but i lost something. and i don’t know if it’s coming back. that’s the cost. not overdose, not rock bottom. just waking up one day and realizing the best version of you was a side effect.
eventually the stimulants stopped working. i wasn’t sharp anymore, just wired. couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think without shaking. the focus turned into paranoia. the silence turned into noise. so i started balancing it out. first weed, then alcohol, then xanax. small doses, just to “come down.” but it never stays small. lexapro came later. i wasn’t sad, just numb. couldn’t feel highs or lows. couldn’t care. but that’s what made it appealing. it killed the part of me that wanted anything. no ambition, no fear, just passivity. i stopped crashing, because i stopped climbing.
so now i wasn’t addicted to speed anymore. i was addicted to slowing down. i needed xanax to sleep, lexapro to function, and a mix of both to not care that i didn’t feel human anymore. this is how it ends for people like me. not with overdose, not with chaos, but with stability. clean sheets, bills paid, no soul. you become the quiet version of your own failure. and no one sees it, because you look calm. you look like you’re okay. but you’re not there anymore.
you don’t stop when you’re winning. even if it’s fake. especially if it’s fake. because the second you stop, you’re left with the real you again. tired, anxious, unfocused. so you keep going. not because you feel good, but because you feel nothing. and nothing is better than being you. by the time i realized it was a problem, it was too late. not because i couldn’t stop, but because i didn’t want to. i missed the version of me that didn’t exist without it. and that’s when you’re really fucked. when you prefer the lie.
hell isn’t pain. hell is function without meaning. performance without soul. it looks like discipline, it feels like control. and no one warns you, because from the outside, you look like you’re finally getting your life together. i’m clean now, but i lost something. and i don’t know if it’s coming back. that’s the cost. not overdose, not rock bottom. just waking up one day and realizing the best version of you was a side effect.
eventually the stimulants stopped working. i wasn’t sharp anymore, just wired. couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think without shaking. the focus turned into paranoia. the silence turned into noise. so i started balancing it out. first weed, then alcohol, then xanax. small doses, just to “come down.” but it never stays small. lexapro came later. i wasn’t sad, just numb. couldn’t feel highs or lows. couldn’t care. but that’s what made it appealing. it killed the part of me that wanted anything. no ambition, no fear, just passivity. i stopped crashing, because i stopped climbing.
so now i wasn’t addicted to speed anymore. i was addicted to slowing down. i needed xanax to sleep, lexapro to function, and a mix of both to not care that i didn’t feel human anymore. this is how it ends for people like me. not with overdose, not with chaos, but with stability. clean sheets, bills paid, no soul. you become the quiet version of your own failure. and no one sees it, because you look calm. you look like you’re okay. but you’re not there anymore.
