My heart is racing. Twitchy, itchy, and nervous are living inside my head like meth lives in the mind of a tweaker. I canít think past the wanting. No, itís not even wanting. Itís a need. A need that over runs everything. My thoughts are no longer mine. The need owns them now. The need burns them up, a funeral pyre dedicated to the person I was before. My free will is given to the need. It was a wicked compromise. I give it what it wants and it let me do my own thing, but now the deal is off. Oh yes, Iím tired of what it wants. It cannot have me anymore. Iíve made up my mind to stand up and tell it to fuck off. Iím sick and tired of being sick and tired, and Iím not going to take anymore shit. Can I get an amen from the congregation?
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Yet for all of my big talk, I can still feel its pull. It drags me from friend to stranger alike, making me beg when begging is not in my nature. The faces I see smug and amused and totally uncompromising. There is no pity in them. They turn me away no matter how much I beg them. My misery makes them chuckle. I cannot get out of this rut. I do not want to get out of this rut, but I doÖnoÖyesÖI donítÖI doÖyou shut upÖno you shut-
The tug of my need interrupts my internal monologueÖor should I say dialogue? I donít know, and it doesnít matter. Iíve got to get out there and find what I need. I used to be so strong, what happened to me?
I told everyone that I was going to quit and now not a damn soul will bum me a smoke. Ainít that a bitch?
'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'