Until You Self-Destruct 1/19/2019

The level of self-destructive behavior I see in people alarms me. I think at one point, we have all tried to drown out our sorrows with alcohol — which I consider to be fairly mild. However, hard drugs is what I have a problem with. Considering most bad moments in life are just temporary, subjecting yourself to several months or years of drug abuse seems like a bad deal — one of the worst there is.

Last night, I went to the club with the guys. Normally, I would say no, but after some insistence, I said fuck it — why not. It was a long week. I would in all honesty admit that going clubbing and going to shows was more fun back in college — not so much now. Back then, I always went with a large group of friends, predominantly female. Shit was fun getting drunk and dancing the night away in some alcohol-fueled bender. Of course it is and would be. Study hard, but party twice as hard. I have too many fond memories of this. Even after finishing college, I did it weekly for other year and a half before I came to my senses and gave it up. Real-world hit and I was left wondering how old is too old for this shit.

I have nothing against clubbing, the party scene, or EDM. It’s an acquired taste and lifestyle. My beef is when it’s used as an excuse to do lines of coke and pop molly. I’ll be real. My friends do this shit a lot and all the fucking time. Molly or ecstasy is the drug of choice for all millennials who like to have a good time. I can’t name a single person I know from college or now who hasn’t at least tried that shit at least once. Who wouldn’t. Pop one and you feel amazing. It’s attractive.

I suppose I always knew my best friend participated in these activities every week without telling us. His behaviors are erratic, mood swings on a dime, and he looks like shit most weekends. He’s a maniac depressive masked over with drinking, drugs, and partying. But he’s a big boy and I’m not here to save him from the path he’s gone way far too down. My job isn’t here to save anyone.

I used to believe that if you had caring friends who were looking out for you, you would almost be almost immune to self-harm. How naive. Only now do I realize even if your friends tell you you’re fucking up, it’s really up to you to decide if you want to listen. Not everyone does and most people are terrible listeners. What separates me from everyone else is I listen and follow advice to a T. I consider myself fortunate for that reason.

I’m almost for a lost of words to describe how it could get this bad for my best friend. Several likes of coke, a few pills of molly, and somehow this is what he considers a fun night. You do you, but next time, I’ll pass. I want nothing to do with that shit.

Later world.


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