Addiction

When one starts a topic, one must always define the topic, right? The topic today is addiction. 

What is addiction? To be dependent on something, a substance, someone, something, that we feel that we need. Is it really essential? Is addiction a pleasure? Sometimes addiction isn’t a pleasure, and this is when addiction comes into play. If we take pleasure in it, it can’t be an addiction, even if we do it all the time, right ? 

Sometimes we don’t take any pleasure from it, but we have to do it anyways, but then why do we do it ? Money ? Pressure from others ? To please them ? Is the act of pleasing people an addiction in itself ? Even if it causes us pain ? Does doing something that we don’t want to do, but we do it to please a 3rd party, bring us pleasure from pleasing them?

It’s a double edged sword. We pay a company to not be poor. We work a horrible job to attain money, to buy materialistic things, to feel better. Fuck, I bet this is a boring topic! When I draw, does it reflect me in that moment ? If I am thinking this, the response must clearly be yes. But wasn't this journal originally supposed to be  a place to write lucrative ideas? Have I already written about boring things and half serious subjects in the past? I don’t remember, too lazy to reread. 

Honestly, when I started this journal, I didn’t even think It’d go past 10 pages, but I really think it’s great that I continued writing. I feel like I’m this lonely guy writing in his journal, locked in his room, sitting on the toilet, or on the tram when he is brave enough to face the the onlookers. 

Sometimes I wonder what I crossed out on page 10. What was the question? Maybe it wasn’t even a question. Maybe it was a thought, and I put yes or no at the end to make future-me think that it was a question. How tricky of past-me. Would present-me have also crossed out that thought? I don’t know! Do I regret it? I don’t care, past-me probably had his reasons. Maybe past-me wrote bullshit, and he knows that the me of all-time has horrible memory, and he crossed it out to make future-me paranoid. 

I made a star on page 10 to warn future-me or other people of this “shitty joke” that past-me created! I am a dirty bastard! (I still do love me!)

...

One time, I was drunk, and when I woke up, past-me put a glass of water on the table near my bed! Thank you past-me! <3

...

“Look at that guy over there, writing in his journal! He probably thinks everyone is staring and talking about him when in fact, no one is! I bet he's paranoid as fuck!” 

-Said an onlooker, loudly.