Benzos are the carebear of drugs. Ritalin is the pacman. The only thing short of an act of God that would motivate me to draw. A strange clean world somewhere between creative and and pure smiling hedonism. I’ll never remember how long I spent there, only that one day I came back. Not on account of anything. It simply cease to work. Left my heart pounding and limbs numb. Weeks of mind games and teasing addiction.

Benzos are habit forming. Cuddly. The My Little Pony of mood alteration. Like a little friend. And there is the problem. In my warm little world, unconcerned. Wholly unmotivated. Alone in my blithe chemical torpor.

Which can be good for the obsessive, neurotic, obnoxious. But not so good for the single. Or the lonely. Or the not so sure what the fuck their doing.

Sometimes you realize that the only way you’re ever going to get your shit back together is to get a little uncomfortable. That maybe this has actually been one of your greatest allies and in comfort, you lose your way.