I am anxious. My name is Haris Malik, a perfectly healthy and working family spawned me. I did this to myself, the grave mistake of messing with drugs and deeply controversially messing up my neurotransmitters, just to avoid Zina. Zina is intercourse with a premarital situation. I have done this and I am on some level proud of myself. But on the current-view-point scale I am very badily handicapped. Badily, just because this wordpad even says it’s not a word, I need to write a wrong word in order to capitalize on what exactly I have done. Everyone may disagree and say you should do this or you should do that, but I did what I thought would be the most bad-ass, in a movie-action setting, and now it is done.
I can not go back on what I did, I absolutely wish it with my purest desires to survive this in a healthy non-crutching way. I mean non crutching in the sense that I don’t want to begin on more drugs of the similar type just to easily avoid going through these withdrawals. But rather I wish to go through them to have the trauma plate in order to never do such an act again. I want to remember back to today and say “oh no, I’m good, I do not want to delve into that ever again.” Someone come save me is what my heart says out loud through my abnormal actions these days.
This essay is just to help my stress levels, it is not to cover anything up so to speak, but rather let everyone who reads this know in an explaining way as to why not to self medicate. Self medication is deadly at worst and in my case crippling at the least. I can’t say more as I plan to live out the rest of this trauma situation and hopefully update this blog.
I now smoke cigarettes to flex that aha look at me, I'm in hella pain but still stunting. I don't know if it's wise to do all this flexing when I have no muscles to show or back it up with, but I am me. I must express myself in my own manner. That manner may be a haunted manor, but it is what I have to work with. This house was built by me and it shall be exited by me alone. I hope anyone that reads this diary realizes that I don't condone doing this to anyone. Not even my worst enemy.
Xanax is a shot acting benzodiazepine and it has been abused by me before, and it was six months of hell. But the monster I'm up against now beats even heroin in my view. At least heroin is over by the 7th day... Whereas I'm on day 26 and it's just now showing its scary guts of the inside of the glass-ass house. I don't want to curse but there is no other way of explaining this situation.
