But then how long can you really stare at the ceiling; contradict the lyrics that meant so much yesterday; and avoid the inevitable moment when depression demands a slip back into the addiction?
It does work though. The drugs can take away the malaise and if nothing else can ease by those hours between the realisation that the drugs really don't seem to be working. You catch yourself naked and cry yourself back to that first hit of anti-world that somehow feels slightly less shameful.
Then the obvious question comes – when did it all go wrong? Moreover; was there ever a moment in which it was at all right? The answers of course have become mundane as with nothing but the passage of time things are inherently worse than last time.
I used to like the downtime. It was the moment where everything could change. It was the point in which the right little action; a change of location; the right seat at a bar; the party invitation I would turn down at any other moment; might just derail this little train and if nothing else crash it into a world that was at least interesting... if not great! Time changes that too. The train derails for sure, but experience dictates that something comes along to put it right back on the tracks.
And then comes the moment after the orgasm of course when the world seems all the more clearer for no longer having any chips on the table. Irony at its finest of course as the inevitable has already been set in motion before it kicks in, by which time of course you are already back on the merry-go-round.
Ah well; maybe next time.