What does my brain think without poison in the blood

April 10th 2025, journal from before quitting 2 weeks ago

Drove 100 mph trying to outrun my anxiety,
Landed at a friend’s house,
Where the house was filled with meth and fentanyl,
People on couches look terrified from paranoia,
Others passed out back hunched forward asleep, blue
Overdosing on cocktails of death.

How did this become my life
Why am I here, wasting nights
But then I realize it’s been 15 years

My reflection I despise, afraid to go in public,
Only feel safe hidden inside,
So I came to those I call friends I meant who are just like me,
Disappointments to everyone in their lives,
We all relate that way before the ritual,
Being denied love by family and friends,
We’ve become seekers of some kind of pleasure for that void,

It just happens to be this...

We are all addicts...

Some people have family love and work to be obsessive over

Some people like us here feel so alone just waking up to their life,
We have nothing but to cry, get high to chase the fulfillment others get in life.

When will it end I hate this carcass of mine,
I try to explain and show it to the young people in this house to quit before they become me...

Full of regret

Who am I to say, I can’t even quit myself, but seeing them going down a long road starting new, it never ends and the obstacles and stress make me want to die inside.

I only use it because of how far I’ve come now, at my age my dreams aren't achievable.  To not be alone.

It feels like 20 years have just disappeared and I’ve lived no life.

Have i become one of those who now use it because life isn’t fixable, chasing unachievable childhood fantasies 

Stuck in a job I hate, and my dreams are planned for years,
Night after night,
High after high,
Never going to finish them or start,

Instead choosing after midnight false intellectual and moral bliss, thinking I was a rebel or free thinker smarter than those who live through society,

Real protesters do something with their life, fight the system and talk within, 
I’m all bloody nostrils talking, chasing the writing of list planning how I will become all I ever dreamed of,
How I will change the world, leave a mark.

To forget it all the next day.

That was my goal in high school to change the world name an impact,

And it's just a fleeting thought now...

What does my brain think without poison in the blood? 

What does my heart feel without dirt clogging my blood?

What does breathing feel like in my collapsing lungs, will fresh air still sooth my failed organs?


And I still sit here with the only people I know, no talking, just a house of chasing highs, sitting, ruminating the failures of our lives, decaying in darkness. Deaf to reality.