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TikTok, the urge creeps again, what the fuck, I thought I kicked this fixation. Yet another week passes, another week of slaving away for my masters, and with that Friday night dusking upon the work day, I feel the urge to release, to be free. I fall back into old habits of self-destruction. Yet, again. The drive is too strong, the pull to unwind from the stresses of reality and to become lost in the unreality of forgetting just simply helps drown all those wretched beliefs.

So easily I roll over to avoid those inhibitions, to forget the remembrance of responsibility, to easily look down at the end of another bottomless bottle, to stare upon the fat, white line separating the border of my licit vs illicit thoughts. Or was it lucid thoughts vs suicidal ideation?

So easily, it becomes to pick up old habits that bring demise. Miserable habits that bring upon sorrow, anguish, desolation. However, knowing the dire ending, I have thoughts of “just one won’t hurt” or “just another one till I feel better.” Yet I know these lies I feed myself to try to fill that deep, dark hunger of craving will never make me feel better. Rather, it just provides the detrimental expiration date to my existence.

I can’t help myself; the dependency my body desires, or maybe my thoughts demand, is too overwhelming. A constant prodding of TikTok, we are here to fuck you up.

I can’t escape it, I cannot silence the ever-so-quite ticking note from the bottom pits of my addiction. It’s always there, ready to feed, if I give it the chance. And I have. I am weak. I am not strong enough to resist that urge of “hey, that anxiety I might be feeling may feel better with a drink” or that “sadness that sorrows like a dark blanket upon myself may feel better with an uplift from the white devil line”.

And it does, that first drink, that first devil dandruff, feels good. It makes me feel normal. I feel like I might have a chance to be normal. That I may have confidence to truly be myself. And forget all the harrows from my past.

Yet as time passes and that first wears off, the feelings get worse. The little devil urge says, it’s now time for another. And I get stuck in this endless loop of self-destruction, where I want to stop, but I can’t. I just need another one, just to feel good.

TikTok, time to get fucked up. g