I slept the whole day through. I do that when I'm depressed, it's one of my personal warning signs, so to speak. I've just had such a shit week, nothing I try to plan seems to work out.
Intellectually, I know that a lot of this is artificial; I'm still in the "coming off the drugs" stage, which fucks with the brain chemicals like you couldn't imagine unless you've had to go through it. But knowing that doesn't help me too bloody much, and it certainly doesn't make it go away.
I still want drugs. A lot. A goddamn lot. And I could get them. Goddamned easily. But I've invested too much self-esteem in this thing, and I can't turn back now without losing what tattered threads of self-respect I've still got. It's an interesting recovery I'm running here. It's not that the drugs are going to kill me, though they are. It's not that they destroy everything I try to accomplish, though they do. It's that they make me feel like I've got no balls. It's totally a cock-measuring contest, me against the dope. But dammit, my cock is bigger. And I'm going to prove it. The harder it gets, the more sure I am.
That's all, folks, just needed to vent a little. Thanks for being there.