i always made sure to be cautious of the things i could get addicted to. I had seen addiction firsthand and heard the stories that sent chills through every bone in my body and i knew that i was genetically coded to succumb to addiction just like the ones before me. I still did the things that teenagers do, but i had boundaries and vowed to only be sad and sober to make sure the addictives never took over. i’d easily take breaks for days, weeks, months, years and be perfectly okay. as i got older, i realized my tolerance would quickly increase the moment an addictive entered my system. My cells no longer allowed me to take the same amount of tylenol two days in a row. If a glass of wine made me tipsy one day, i’d need two the next day just to get the same buzz. this change was strange but it didn’t bother me much because i didn’t indulge in addictives nearly enough for it to affect my everyday life.
but i didn’t know that addictives could walk and talk and live and breathe. I never worried that something addictive would exchange sweet nothings with me. if it only takes two days for an addiction to start, then giving it four wasn’t exactly smart. Especially when i knew something dangerous was ahead. but of course, i didn’t know i was already addicted. and once you realize it it’s far too late, and going through withdrawals makes you want something else to take its place.
though my tolerance is high, my willpower is low, and for the first time ever the boundary i set so long ago seems meaningless and i no longer care about statistics because i already fucked up and gave myself an addiction.