We’re all self medicating one way or another
What are you doing right now? You’re most probably gawping at a five inch screen, your neck bent in prayer to your new technology God, with your mouth slightly open, a bit of saliva meandering on down to your chin. Face it, your look like you’ve just had a fucking lobotomy. You’re bored. You’re always fucking bored now.
Well done for making it to paragraph two. That means you’ve resisted the urge to look at that notification. If you had have done, you’d have already forgotten that you were reading this, because these days we’ve all got the attention span of fucking Boris Johnson in a ball pool.
We swallow anti depressants like Smarties at a child’s birthday party just to get through the fucking day, and those of us who don’t secretly smash two bottle of red every night like Keith Floyd preparing a meal just as an excuse to get twatted. Either that or we smoke pot until a fucking peanut butter and crisp sandwich seems like best idea in the fucking world.
Then there’s the liars. The people who don’t need any drugs. Their brand of escapism from this perpetual shit episode of Eastenders we laughingly call a life, is probably the most damaging of them all; The Netflix bingers.
They sit there for 5 hours at a time. I say they, I mean we. I’ve got more vices than fucking B&Q. I smash the red, drop the pills and pretend I’m going north of the wall to rescue the fucking Wildlings at the same time. Now that’s fucking living!
I digress, they, you, me, us, throw more of our lives away than a fucking traffic warden looking at our precious screens. Watching someone build a meth empire, fight zombies or competitively fucking bake so we don’t have to.
Don’t worry though, finish your shift in the shitty job you despise, go home and make your tea, iron your clothes or do whatever other dull shit you do, then roll that fat one or fill that glass and start on Season 3, because tommorow it all starts again. Wash, rinse, repeat.
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