On days like today we are forced to face our own addiction; to open the bathroom mirror holding bottles we have long forgotten, for pain that we no longer suffer from.
I'm addicted to running but you can't bottle the adrenaline from "fight or flight."
You can't roll that fleeting moment inside of paper and hold it to your lips until it burns to ash, so instead, you light another and another and another.
I am addicted to chaos and conflict and anything that gives me a reason to not sit still. You won't shame me for having too much energy until it's the wrong place at the wrong time.
Addiction isn't a choice, though, that I can bring out at parties for the inconvenience and to watch my fellow addicts squirm under the guise of self-righteousness.
Under the false-hood of "she should have known better."
Pick your poison, carefully. Because one day it'll come back to haunt you, to tease you at night when the rest of the world seems not to notice the trauma you've been through.
We're all after that feeling, that moment, that word with no name that makes you excited about yourself, even if just for a second.
It's easier to condemn those that are different from ourselves rather than help them, but our addictions have never been different.
Go on then - sip your coffee, smoke your cigarette, obsessively check your social media, day in and day out - you carry your addiction like the heart on your sleeve, sometimes until it's too late. Until you need help and don't know how to ask, when everyone has already turned their back.
"But first, do no harm" was the first rule we all should have learned.