Cigarette Diaries - First Entry
It suprised me how quickly I picked it all up again. Though, I imagine its somewhat like riding a bike, you can go years without it but you never really forget. In the back of your head you feel like they are watching closer for the signs this time. I have an insatiable ego, I like to believe that I matter enough for people to pay attention to me. Is it wrong to feel comfort in dillusions of grandieur?
Really, im nothing special. Every story has a hero, a villain, struggle, overcoming struggle, suspense, misery, joy...all that shite. This story's no different. Im no hero. I have no profound message. I believe I feed my ego when I act out these scenario's, planning every response and outcome. Its this ultimate need for control. I need to control things. Predicting people reactions and manipulating them into self fulfilling prophecy's. If you tell me that I will be ok if I do this, or that, I purposely do the opposite, consciously, unconsciously, who knows. Why? Because it is control. I have been driven to this point of almost insanity by this insatiable need to control everything in my life. I stay awake for days and weeks on end because I am in control of my life. I fill my body with filth because I am in control of my life. I throw myself around my hole of an existence because I am in control of my life.
This isnt freedom. This is prison. Self imprisonment. A slave to my own egotistical, drug-fuelled, dillusions of grandieur. I watch films about crazy people because they make me feel like I am not as crazy as them. When in reality, its not quite so close to the truth. But, all good things must come to an end, and I slowly await the fallout from this little reprise. The saddest thing will be the looks on their faces. The disapointment always kills me. No matter how much they try to hide it, its like something of me dies in each one of them. And I know that I will never be part of that world with them anymore. When you choose, as I did, to let life get on top of you and succumb to your weaknesses. For whatever reason, each as good or bad as the next. No excuse or reason too much better or worse then another.
I just dont want to see the look in my mothers eyes when all the hardwork she has put into raising me comes cascading down her cheeks and her hopes and dreams for me come crashing with them. But not just hers, mine, my family, my friends, all of them. I could give a hundred reasons why it turned out like this. Some, more convincing then others. But the end result is the same. So now we wait... patiently...for the chapter to finish and the consequences to reveal themselves. Its all rather like a childhood adventure, jumping on the bed, just wanting to read the last chapter, so that we know it all turns out ok in the end. But im no hero. And this book is still being written.
Addiction is such a dirty word.
