They say with a lack of treatment, depression and personality disorders get worse over time. Like a relationship that just won't end years past its due date. As every day became more insufferable I often had to talk myself out of ending my life by coming around to the idea drugs existed. As if I had forgotten.
It was a rising treatment for depression at the time I stumbled across it online. After a vicious abscess from shooting up cocaine and missing, I thought of ketamine crystals as more of a safer way to be endlessly inebriated. I had only heard good things about this drug.
What a burden, I turned my entire life into, now depending on anaesthetic to feel pleasure I longed to feel, which was constantly blocked out by anhedonia. I couldn't overcome my problems. I didn't even know where to start, for I wasn't even aware of what I wanted in life anymore.
They say respect is earned. Love on the other hand was something I'd never deserve enough to get. I never played my cards right around the people who mattered. The right people. On every year of my birthday, I would shrink into myself and listen to my breaking heart silently pound in place waiting for the next atrocity to come forward to me. What could possibly top this sick joke my life situations have become?
One humiliated peer after another, counting their lucky days out…
And I didn't initiate a single word. In my realms of deep thought what looked like blood pooling under the bridges of my thinking would start to saunter together into a perfect oval. Is this water drinkable? Only a fool would ask.
I was never loved a day in my life.
Anyways, ketamine made this impossible to care about. Along with work and lots of it. On myself, no. There was nothing wrong with me at the baseline of it all. People did me the fuck wrong. They had their reasons but God help the next person to come and judge my decisions as to why I stay addicted to anaesthetics after a battlefront has been made of my entire life.
So I tend to cry on ketamine sometimes and it scares people. I am not known to cry often. Everything in my perception, being so blatant obvious, cannot evoke a tear in my eye for shit. Perhaps I am a psychopath dying of a broken heart.