I’m fucked. Not working at the moment (medical leave bc substance abuse). Been binging pretty much non stop since mid March. 3 nights of sleep per week.

Stopping means acknowledging all the damage, waste, lost romance, lost friendships, lost fitness and health, lost money, lost hair, lost whatever the fuck you can think of. So I continue in this weird storyline. I feel like a protagonist from a Kerouac novel. Except I’m not on the road or climbing a mountain. I’m sitting alone in my appartment, eating whole blocks of cheese for dinner (yeee).

I’m a way, way worse version of myself compared to a few months ago in every measure I can think of. The only positive is that meth made me reconnect with a lot of interests that I had stopped pursuing. It’s like getting my childlike fascination for the world back. Of course meth is a net negative, but if I’m gonna go out like that, might as well enjoy the ride. I was my best self a year ago. Success on all fronts. But I was driven by emotions and anxiety. I think when SSRIs took that away, I suddenly had no desire to do anything now that the motivating emotions were dulled. I took extra vyvanse to compensate, it went to shit super quickly, doc pulled my Rx, and then I made the brillant switch to meth self medication.

When I started using, I would straight up bawl alone in my appartment sitting on the floor the days following a binge. The most profound emotional pain I ever experienced. I broke my own heart.

I don’t even feel much now. My weekly consumption is now around 3.5 grams. I only take it orally so at least I’m not smoking or boofing. Yet?