Addiction: A Love Story

You wake up late. Your head pounds, your stomach churns, and last night’s poison sloshes inside you like a cheap cocktail of shame. Your mouth is dry, your tongue tastes like an old ashtray, and your jaw aches—maybe from grinding your teeth, maybe from saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Maybe you remember what happened. Maybe you don’t. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because before you even drag yourself out of bed, before you even breathe properly, you check your phone.

Thumb scrolling. Mind blank. Doom-scrolling through news, sports, memes, filth. Some stranger online calls you a legend. Some girl you don’t even like has left you on read. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, but you keep looking. Keep checking. Keep clicking. Like some poor bastard at a betting shop, waiting for the odds to shift in his favour.

It’s not entertainment. It’s not fun. It’s just something to fill the silence. To stop you from feeling like a useless sack of flesh taking up space. And that’s addiction, isn’t it? Not just heroin, not just cocaine or pints or pills or chasing the next warm body. It’s need. A constant, gnawing need—for distraction, escape, that fleeting moment where life doesn’t feel like one long, slow funeral.

Maybe you gamble. Maybe you crush weights at the gym six days a week, chasing a body that’ll never be enough. Maybe you chase strangers into beds that don’t feel like home, trying to prove something - to them, to yourself, to no one at all. Or maybe it’s just the drink. The drugs. The things that make time speed up, slow down or disappear altogether.

Do you ever watch people in a café? On a train? Their eyes are hollow, their shoulders hunched, their fingers twitching for their phones every ten seconds like a junkie waiting for his next fix. They scroll through curated lives they’ll never live, longing for a reality that doesn’t exist.

That’s addiction. That’s the disease. Because we are all junkies. You don’t need a needle in your arm to be a slave to something. You don’t need to be shaking in an alleyway to be hooked.

You wake up. You work. You spend money you don’t have on things you don’t need to impress people you don’t even like. You eat the same meals, watch the same shows, and sleep beside the same person you no longer desire, pretending this is how life’s meant to be.

And you know it’s all a scam. You know you’re on a treadmill that never stops. But what’s the alternative? Face yourself? Sit in the silence and listen to the thoughts you’ve been drowning in booze, porn, social media, bets, reps, one-night stands? No. You’d rather chase the high. You’d rather run. Until when? Until you wake up and realize you’ve wasted years? That all the things you once thought were fun were just ways to numb the ache? That all the highs were just a long, slow way to die?

Dopamine. Serotonin. Cortisol. You tell yourself you’re in control. That you can stop anytime. That this is all just a bit of fun. But your brain is laughing at you behind your back. You think you’re making choices, but really, you’re just a lab rat hitting a button for another hit.

Social media? A casino. Every like, every comment, every notification—it’s all designed to keep you hooked. A little burst of dopamine, the same rush that keeps gamblers chasing losses. But then it fades. So you check again. And again. And again.

Porn? Instant gratification. Endless variety. No effort required. But it rewires your brain. Makes real people seem dull in comparison. Turns connection into a transaction.

Alcohol? A depressant sold as fun. You tell yourself it’s just a few pints, just a few laughs. But what are you really drinking for? To loosen up? To have a good time? Or to quiet the voice in your head that won’t shut the hell up? The one whispering that you’re wasting your life?

You chase the high. But the high never lasts. So you do it again. And again. And again.

At first, addiction is a laugh. A few drinks with the lads. A cheeky line at a party. A weekend bet. A casual fuck. A quick scroll. Until it’s not. Until it’s a habit. Then a routine. Then a necessity. And the worst part? You don’t even notice.

You tell yourself you’re fine. That this is normal. That everyone does it. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. You know you’re hooked. You know you can’t stop. And even if you could, even if you wanted to, then what? Then you’d have to face yourself. And that’s the scariest thing of all.