A Drug Dealer’s Offer

I offer you a drug. Known to erect a powerful high, it gently plunges into the depths of euphoria. I promise everyone is doing it. A lasting escape from life’s painful throws.  A drug that is most potent to the weary travellers, and those who are filled with jaded teen spirit. For those of you who are simply tired of trying, and looking for rest from your burdens.  Mediocrity, sweet mediocrity. Found in the homes of the well-to-do elites and the bitterly impoverished alike.  My great fear is that it may have found you before I have. You are already prancing about in its charm, afloat in its fatal high.

I assume you were never warned of the adverse side effects.  That’s just how “the crowd” works, they never explain much. All that’s said their products is that they must be kept cool. Vague explanations are soiled with dirty words such as “normal”. As your friend and a former addict, let me carry the encumbrance of shedding light on how things are from the dark side. Upon using, you will die. Mind you not the kind of peaceful death of a well lived grandmother. This is kind of death where you still are very much alive but have long seized to live, for you will die an internal death.  As a ghost you inherit all the riches of being subtle, complacent, and the polished gold of being moderate. The high will also leave you anxious. You are bothered by the stench and audacity that excellence carries and thus want no part in it. In your unrelenting nausea you scorn opportunity and find companionship with continuity, a friend indeed. Continuous stagnation is what you will now know as progress. Forgive me if I’m scaring you because to have described it in any other way, I would have misrepresented the drug.  Inebriated you will find comfort and safety. You will be thoroughly rid of troubles.  Awareness  in a new world foreign to great expectation.

Don’t spend your high alone, if you seek others, I found this drug rampant in the clubs and bars. They are never hard to spot, for their eyes always betray them. Defeated and unconscious they stare at you hoping you represent some semblance of what it is like back on earth where the dreamers labor and toil.

I’m two years sober now. Since then I’ve worked harder than ever, hurt more, and been so bothered that I am dam near emotionally unstable. Not for a moment in time have I considered using again, and I never will.

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