I've never been addicted to anything but the thrill of living.
Well I guess there's cigarettes, but does that really count?

I think about the drugs.
They're documented, here in my journal.

I feel awful as I read this memoir, "Beautiful Boy"
His father really wants him to ******* stop.

The methadone.
"That's some Heavy ****, _. What were you thinking?"
I was thinking about the high of doing something /wrong/

I walk to temptation, light a match and walk away.
Never involved, just toying with the idea.

I've had a couple glasses of wine, not high...
writing about the darkness makes we want another glass.
Is the act of expressing these emotions playing with fire?
Better pour myself another glass.

The downtrodden, the broken, the fall from grace.
I'm just fascinated.

A damaged person is more whole to me than the impeccable.

I am impulsive, unafraid of mistakes, romantic.
I treat my life and my body like a canvas.
I do not lump things into categories of black and white.
I open up to strangers and see beauty in the obscure.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.
I am no stranger to controversy.

// vacuous behavior in our world, and beneath it I believe there are people who are boiling to get out.//

People have been conditioned into eating, sleeping, *******, and buying their problems away.

I shouldn't be conditioned to feel weak about this vulnerability.
"To be fully standing in the light, one must cast a shadow"

BECAUSE it's in grappling with these dark moments, sharing & owning them/
that we are most liberated/

I accept and embrace this uncertainty