We all fall down, some of us again and again

Several months ago:

After hits from the bong (Cypress Hill song:) and sniffing a couple vicodin lines and taking some lithium and neurontin to even out:

the front doorbell rings at my parents’ house.

Immediately I’m paranoid and super anxious: did my mom call mh/mr again? Am I being involuntarily committed again and riding in back of ambulance with a straightjacket on? Are the cops coming to take me to the station again? Do I have to worry about where I’m gonna be living again?

What about the dozen or so vikes in my pocket and the buds of sticky icky green in my other pocket and my weed pipes populating my room?

Is it a counselor or some other rep coming to check up on me?

No. Not this time. Not yet.

Instead, it’s a woman and a man “advertising” a free public event 0f apparent mass appeal at the local Jehovah’s Witnesses Kingdom Hall.

Whew.

All the former will be coming for me all too soon. I know it all too well…

Comments

  1. It’s hard to come by knowledgeable people about this subject, however, you seem like you know what you’re talking about!
    Thanks

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