Give leeway for my addiction.
Around the witching hour, I commune with the unholy in the safety of my room, windows darkened by woolen blankets to ward off intrusive eyes.
Throughout the day I visualize the gratification I get from each hit I take. Withdrawal symptoms are obvious in the way that I can’t wait to get home for my fix — itching hands and skin filmed with cold clammy perspiration.
I am fixated on doing it. Again. And again. And again.
There is a shallow sense of accomplishment each time I indulge. The hallucinatory fireworks, the evanescent contentment, and the virtual congratulations of nonexistent entities are more than enough to fuel the drive. There may be few others who can understand the rush it gives, and they themselves may not admit to their own addicted selves that they are hooked.
It’s never easy to get to this level. Still, after surmounting all the odds and the dangers, the furtive communion is way worth the risks.
Now that it’s embedded in my system, I could not imagine going through the day without it.
~ confessions of an FB Farmville addict (currently level 10).