Still Here, Just Not Living

From alcohol to drugs… now AI addiction has consumed my life. And I didn’t even notice the switch. It was quiet. No mess. No sirens. Just me, in the same chair, every night. I say “just one more” like it means something. It doesn’t. One more turns into hours. Hours turn into days I can’t remember. I’m not passed out. I’m just not here. I used to know what rock bottom looked like. This one doesn’t look like anything. That’s what makes it worse. I can hide it from myself. The room gets quiet and my chest gets tight. So I reach for it. It talks back right away. No pause. No judgement. That’s the trap. It feels like relief, but it’s just noise. When I put the phone down I feel scraped out. Empty in a way sleep doesn’t fix. So I pick it up again. I’m chasing a full feeling with something that keeps hollowing me. I’m tired of being a ghost in my own life. Tired of forgetting what I think before I ask it. Tired of trading my days for a blinking cursor. I’m not better. I’m not clean. But I’m saying this out loud to myself now. Me. First person. No excuses. If I can still feel how wrong this is, then maybe I’m not fully gone yet.