I'm bored. It's not healthy that I spend every unoccupied waking moment of the day craving for the drug that I had been addicted to for quite some time.
It is certainly no less worse that every free moment is suffered with withdrawal symptoms so heartbreaking I feel like I don't have a purpose anymore.
I made up all the excuses. I tried to read minds, to predict behaviour. To explain myself over thinking things. I believed. I trusted. I still do.
The half of me says I'm an idiot. I never gave more than second chances. Why is this any different? Why is the other half not stopping? Why do I still want to believe?
I never wanted to be a pest. But I never behaved like this before the addiction.