Tag Archives: addiction

Chat rooms are church confessionals.


Confessions are always easy to make among strangers. You don’t know them and they don’t know you. I have always wondered why it’s easier for us to pour our heart out to millions of strangers on the internet. Chat rooms are like church confessionals for people and especially the modern day youth. I cannot confess the things that I have done to the people around me. We live our life but majority of the thoughts go unheard like the sentence I just erased to write this one.
I want to tell them that I just realized the worst feeling in life; that I want to change the person that I am but cannot. I want to tell them that my habits might be taking a toll on me for the worse.
I guess, giving people bits of yourself without unveiling yourself fully, provides you with a self of anonymous power. You won’t see them and they won’t be able to see you so that makes chat room confessionals perfect. Don’t get me wrong, there are worse feelings that people encounter everyday and you can never weigh yours with them. However, knowing that you’re not right and wanting to change but not having the courage to feels more fucked up to those who have been there.
You can tell strangers about things that your best friend would probably never know. Heck, there might be a best friend in every category of your life.
“It started as a result to impress my friends.”, you say, “I never realized the long term impacts until, now.”
“Approval meant that world to me back then,” he says, “Now, I cannot give less a fuck about what society thinks.”
But it’s too late. Now when you’re off to bed or to a lovers embrace there lingers more remorse than peace in your soul.

I’ve tried quitting but it isn’t that easy and I’m sure you’ve tried calling quits as well. You’ll never really understand addiction until you’ve been in the shoes of an addict. It isn’t in our control when self medication turns into self-abuse. When “it won’t hurt” turns into “I will destroy your fucking life.” Everything is in control but nothing is in grasp.
Digital. Cold. Not dead. Hopeless. Impulsive. Fake.
It’s a basic definition of modern day man if you ask me.
I’m young enough to know that things might change, this I call the shimmer of hope. I’m old enough to know that this phase of life will haunt me forever, I call this darkness of my past. In an online forum, people talked about how messed up their life is because seems like we have no control over anything except our phones. A cloak of anonymity gives you the power to say things that you might otherwise, not say. People talk about lost lovers and uncaring parents. I’ve heard them cry over things that meant the world to them but didn’t mean anything to me. I’ve felt more empathetic towards them because I know that feeling of helplessness. I’ve spent days locked in my room tightly tugged in between sheets not knowing what is wrong. I’ve spent days laughing and grinning with people. It’s a swing between high and low.
Addictions can take you to the top of the world in a moment and the very next drop you from cloud nine. Until, you’ve been in this dark place there isn’t much I can say to explain it to you. Consider seeing yourself from the opposite side of the room. You want to stop yourself-do not-but the voice falls on deaf ears. You can’t do much about it except for make constant efforts to change. You’ll fail a lot but also succeed. I dropped from three to just one to get me by. I don’t know who will read this but if you’re going through an addiction that is hard to shake off, then know you’re not alone. If anything, this digital entity is here suffering the same thing. Confessions are always easy to make among strangers. You don’t know me and I don’t know you so in this digital world, we are all free. Maybe this is the only freedom we will ever know.

What do I mean when I say that I miss you?


Because, when I say that I miss us then I mean the feeling you and I had in between us, even when surrounded by a hundred people there was intimacy only we both knew about.
Your hand on mine or that shared cigarette in the stormy night
I miss the innocence of just being with you and not caring about the world.
The point of not acknowledging our love or making public declarations about it but just being head over heels in love.
The familiarity of your unfamiliar face when we’re both drunk and lying on the floor looking at the roof, silently.
The way you call my name as we fall on the ground or when I cry on your shoulder hoping not for condolence but that for a while, peace.
So, when I say that I miss you?
I don’t mean the physical presence because love is not all about being in touch with someone but how our souls sync and resonate with the universe as one.



I walked among the crowd
I was a part of something big
I feel alone walking
A fragment
A lie
A regret

Chivas in hand
An ocean spray to the mind
Jesus, I think I finally found the meaning of life



The ballerina unchained herself
The shackles of despair broke off
In the air her muse played
She swayed with the fading memories
Under the dim lights of her glory
Her steps lingered with glitter
It rained whiskey that night
He swayed with her under the shadows
Held her close and pour love down her soul
The ballerina danced on her feet
Claiming freedom and love
He swayed with her
Finally, chaos found its light.

Piano muse


It is 45 minutes left to a new day. The clock will strike 12 and another day will peak through the hours.
The night will continue to sway in gloom and our shadows will dance, hands entwined to the piano muse.

Between gulps of whiskey you will tell me that when you were young there was a time when you were afraid of the dark because the shadows on the wall reminded you of monsters.

Between puffs of smoke I will tell you how loud noises scare me because my parents always fought and screams are what I heard that haunt me to this very day.

Today, while were young and high, two youths wasted and bruised by the past. The dark doesn’t scare you anymore because my shadow is always there with you. Loud noises don’t frighten me because I know that I can always bury my head inside your chest and shut the world out.

A letter to you.


I walked down the road I used to walk a million times, years ago to meet you. I wondered how time had changed and how we had drifted apart suddenly and then gradually. I recalled how early morning or afternoon I used to pace down the street among crowds of people. Each step increased my anticipation and the swarm of butterflies in my stomach unleashed a new feeling as I grew nearer your place, hoping to see you on the same couch smiling back at me.

It has been ages since someone loved me like you did. Someone held me with the same eagerness and warmth that you held me with and whispered love into my veins that seeped and made home in my bones. Each step I took down the road and each corner reminded me of you, the hunger and love I held for you back in those years. I smiled but I swear my heart ached and the dead butterflies in my gut cried because, even they miss the way you used to make me feel.

Remember, how you always held me close enough. I still remember how you tasted and how your scent infused with mine. You would call me silly, but sometimes when I smell a similar one? I think about you. It is weird how a fragrance brings back so many memories.

I walked the same path again and the weather was the same, gloomy, dark, windy and the sun peeking out a bit. Just the way we liked it. I paced down the streets but now with a heavy heart and slow steps because I wanted to take the walk down the memory lane slow. There was no urgency in my walk and to be honest? I tried my best to relish each step and recall what I had with you. We lost it. I changed. You grew up.

If given another chance? I swear I would walk right back to you like I always did and collapse in your arms like they are my only refuge. I would repeat each mistake, each innocent sin under the curtains drawn and dimly lit room because you were the only one who gave me my first rush of butterflies when I had an empty pit.

Prostitutes and gamblers


Reflecting on the past gives you insight on how you led up in the present situation. You will find that life turned out to be a cheap prostitute you mistook for an expensive escort.
You were a gambler in the drunken state of mind with fresh cash and your queens all in a row. Until, your twenty became a sixty and being addicted to the game, all you did now, was to survive the chase and not let life pass you by that easily-No whore gets to walk by this easily- only to realize that it walked over you to another winner the moment you began to lose.

Even cheap prostitutes hang onto winners. Life always hangs onto the winners and tramples those under its heel who lose.