Friday February 23rd 2007, 4:53 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To the drugs,

Habits are hard to break. The brain concretes as one makes progress through history. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that tradition is a societal and historical development whose goal is to become habit. Truth is a tradition, while searching for the truth is habitual. Since I’ve been back in the City of Lost Angels, I’ve fallen into the tradition of doing certain drugs at parties. And even though your voice calls to me, haunting me with the words “Take care of yourself?, I feel as if I don’t know how to take care of myself, especially if I continue these destructive activities. When I’m socializing, the part of my brain that knows when to stop destroying itself turns off. I know my limitations; I just don’t know when to stop. Traditionally, drugs are habit-forming. Have I fallen into a stereotype of use and abuse? Why do I abuse my mind in social settings? When you and I were married, we barely did any harmful substances. I felt clean. (That is of course if you don’t count the alcohol, however we only became extremely intoxicated on special occasions or on nights when I hated myself and felt like drinking my consciousness away). You were all the drug I needed. The endorphins of Love out-stimulate any man-made chemical one can put in one’s body. I swear by this statement. Therefore, I am constantly searching for Love, looking to inject such a beautiful substance straight into my limbic system. Oh how I wish I could be constantly high on Love, without any comedown. Love comedowns are the worse type of comedown. It takes weeks, months and sometimes years to recover from such intense mental stimulation, if one recovers at all. But whom can we blame as the dealer of love? Is it that fat cherub, Cupid? Is he the pusher that controls the love levels from his clandestine love labs? Like drugs, love makes humans do stupid liberal things. Shouldn’t there be some Republican motion to outlaw Cupid and his labs from dealing Love in the streets of America? Who needs Love when there’s marriage? We can commit ourselves on paper rather than share the drug of Love with someone we cherish. But love is an addiction, formed by habit, formed by tradition. Once one has tasted the sweetness of love’s awesome temptation, it is highly doubtful one will ever go straight and bitter again, that is, until after the rehab session of post-love-traumatic syndrome.

-The User

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