I want you to know that you’re ruining your life.
You go to work drunk and high now, and your bosses have mentioned that you’re acting differently lately. They keep pushing your promotion back because you’ve been out sick a lot lately. Except you’re not really sick. You’re exhausted and hung over from drinking and smoking pot all night.
You don’t even use to feel good anymore. You use to feel normal. You can’t even fucking feel good anymore. You’ve burned out your brain. No, that’s not entirely true. You do feel good. But you don’t remember it. Its so fleeting, you spend all your time using worrying about if you’re high enough to start feeling good, and worrying if you have enough stuff to keep you high.
I hate you. You are weak, pathetic, and a puppet of your base desires. You’ve squandered every noble opportunity presented to you. That job making twice what you make now, gone. Higher education, gone.
And you know what the worst thing is? You’re at the tipping point. If you quit using today, you could go back to school, be forgiven by your girlfriend, and go on to lead a productive, prosperous life. Externally, your life is not so torn apart that you cannot rebuild.
But you can’t, can you? The bottle is right here. I’m looking at it right now. The pipe is right next to me, in a drawer. These are the only things that can fill the hole inside your chest, the same place that you crave a cigarette, only a thousand times more persuasive. Of course, they only fill the emptiness and mask the pain for little while.
It’s so easy to lower your standards. A year ago, the thought of going to work high was inconceivable. Now, you only go to work sober when you’re out. And you usually only run out when you have no money to buy any more.
You could work at NASA, like you’ve dreamed. You definitely have the potential, the intelligence, you simply require the advanced education. But you know that won’t happen if you keep using.
This happens all the time. For a few minutes, hours maybe, you find the clarity to recognize how dangerous and pathetic your behavior is. But then that hole in your chest seems to get bigger and you need to fill it up with whatever you can.
After work today, you went out and bought a fifth of whiskey. You started out writing this letter drinking a Gatorade. Now the bottle of whiskey is almost gone and you’re worried about having enough liquor to last the night.
I hate you. I am so ashamed of you that I can barely stand it. But that feeling will go away after a few more drinks.
I don’t need an education. I don’t need a career. I don’t need a relationship. The whole goal in life is to be happy, right? Well, I’m always miserable. Except when I’m drinking. Then I’m happy.
I really hope I don’t wake up tomorrow.