Oh man, let me tell you about my life as a heroin addict. It started innocently enough – just a little hit here and there to take the edge off after a rough day. But before I knew it, I was chasing that dragon every waking hour. I'd wake up in cold sweats, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, desperately needing my fix. My arms? Covered in tracks, man. My wallet? Emptier than a politician's promises. I'd sell my grandma's dentures on eBay just for one more sweet, sweet dose.
Friends? What friends? They all bailed when I started nodding off mid-conversation, drooling like a Saint Bernard in July. My job? Fired after I showed up high as a kite and tried to "optimize" the coffee machine by injecting it with who-knows-what. And don't get me started on the paranoia – every siren is the cops coming for me, every shadow is a dealer who shorted me last time. But oh, that rush! That warm, fuzzy blanket wrapping around your soul, making everything feel right in this crapsack world. I'd do anything for it. Rob a bank? Sure. Wrestle a bear? Bring it. Eat kale voluntarily? Okay, maybe not that.
I've hit rock bottom so many times I've got a frequent faller card. Rehab? Tried it thrice, but I always relapse because nothing compares to that pure, unadulterated bliss. If you're thinking about trying heroin, don't – it'll own you faster than you can say "just one bump." Save yourself, bro.