in 2nd person

So you sit there high on Xanax thinking of ways to get sober. Convincing yourself that at least the benzos aren't opiates or alky. Hey take another junky. But you're not a bad junkie, no just one with relapse after relapse. You think that this addict thing isn't that bad. Slurring and stumbling. Mumbling and your smiling. You know it isn't good. You know it isn't good to even blog here. Your sluggish mind and constant yawning prove you're high. Is this what you want? How many meetings have you gone to? Have you ever actually, completely wanted to stop? By the looks of things-no. Just brief reprieves you lie about calling being clean.
You miss your old girlfriend, want to call her up. You want to crawl on the floor with a bottle of Wild Turkey in your hand. If you're gonna get f*cked up, why not go all the way. You're not suicidal, not depressed, you're not doing anything positive. You're high as hell. You don't care. You start to hate it when people tell you sobriety is the most important thing and that by the looks of it you ain't making any progress. But, hey I ain't stealing meds, ain't dr. shopping, ain't manipulating anyone. No, I'm just sitting here lying to myself, completely inebriated. Dull and heavy. But hey junky you only snorted a couple of xannies-at least it ain't speed. Oh and by the way Mr. Addict pat on the f*cking back for sleeping in all weekend. I mean, hey, you're body needs rest right? Jesus H. you're doing an awesome job at recovery. So you smile and want to cry for blogging what you know is bullsh*t. That what you're doing is helping no one but you don't care. You're drooling. You're smiling. You're sedated.