Letter To Self

Okay Donnie, so you’re deliberating getting high again. Well, that may be custy while you are choking your chicken to porn until daft o’clock in the morning, but have you considered what happens on the comedown? If not, let me explain it to you. Well first, those pesky voices arise don’t they? Quiet at first, but ever gradually growing louder. Eventually it levels out at the screams and cries of your loved ones getting tortured in Hell. Not very enjoyable that, as I recall, is it? Especially when they are talking to you directly. Not exactly a day out in Blackpool, is it? Do I have to remind you how it makes you feel? Miserable, is what it makes you feel. Downright depressed. Downright downbeat. It deadens you, from the inside out. And then follow those frankly bizarre hallucinations, don’t they? But hey, if you think having spiders and rats crawl all over you a jolly good idea, then you run right ahead and get on it. I won’t stop you. I can’t stop you. And yet, at the same time, I’m the only one who can talk some sense into you. It wouldn’t be half as bad if you couldn’t feel the damn things, but you’re well experienced when it comes to bites and nibbles. Doesn’t get any easier though, does it, having them eat you alive? Having them piss and shit on you as well. And don’t forget the bigger things, the mutants, the things that defy the laws of nature. And they frickin’ talk, Donnie. They taunt you. All day long. And you can’t sleep it off, because you’re wired for days. All you can do is sit there and take it on the chin, staring into space. Pleasant? Enjoyable? I think not. Plus you lose your appetite and motivation, so there goes the gym and any public outings you had planned. Weigh it all up, lad. Is it worth it? Is it worth it? You let me know by your actions. If you decide to use, I figure you haven’t listened to me at all. If you stay clean and serene (we love that phrase, don’t we?), I guess I may finally have sunk some sense into you. By Christ, it’s taken long enough. Your decision though, mate. Your decision. Or is it? Maybe it’s all pre-ordained…