Next Step

After spending the weekend under the influence of poppy tea and endless bonghits,...Monday came around. Monday's are frightening. I'm constipated from the poppies and I feel like throwing up continuially. This is not to mention the whole world seeming not real, like some bad independent movie which I am one of the stars. I go through the motions sensing a real disconnect. It's survival at best. No amount of tea in the world can pull me out of the dreamlike qualities of a Monday. I panic over money, I panic over career moves, I panic over the endurance, I panic over being known as someone I'm not.
I call a counselor and right over the phone she asks if I'm depressed. I told her it makes me depressed for someone to think I'm depressed and even if I were depressed, it would make me more depressed to take antidepressants. I hate conselors because they make you reflect n patterns and habits. I filled out the form she sent and it made way too much sense, you need to lay that big spike down. Sad but true, I can't go on like this forever, I must be worthy of imitation for the sake of my children. I can't keep saying the bong is a flower vase, considering I pay so much attention to it without ever putting flowers in it. So I have three choices: keep doing what I've always been doing, go sober completely, or switch to more socially accepted drugs like pills and booze. This sucks but so does hitting rock bottom. I could be like The Band, the dude from The Far Side, Steinfield, and others who quit at their peak. I assure you all I will not get hooked on Jesus. He was a cool dude in Birkenstocks but not my savior.