I love writing, but when I’m sober, inspiration just doesn’t happen.

And then I did some meth.

I just spent the last TWENTY hours writing short stories and submitting them to short story contests. And I find most of them quite good.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so interested and involved in anything else in my entire life. I felt HUMAN for the first time since in a long while. I finally found something that made time stop.

My writing style is dark humor, and mostly always about addicts, alcoholics and criminals. Unfortunately, these subjects seem to repulse the masses. Maybe even traumatize some people.

But just the fact that all these beautifully crafted sentences came together from my own brain is rewarding enough. It was the most productive and creative meth trip I’ve ever had, and it was worth experiencing the shitty comedown I’m going through right now.