As many of the people reading this already know, after trying to use opium responsibly for a couple of years (mostly in the form of PST, but also, occasionally, smoked), I've allowed myself to become addicted to it. In Cocteau's Diary, he declares that some individuals are born to become addicted and that opium is less harmful than the malady it cures for these people. Was he right? Is this just how it is for some people? Is it even possible for me to feel okay (not even happy, really) without propping myself up chemically every day?
I often feel like I'm just too broken to survive without it. I was bullied relentlessly as a child, and I often feel like it's ruined me for good. I was never pretty enough, never "cool" enough. I have no self-esteem, and there's only a void where my sense of self-love and self-worth should be. I feel abysmally depressed when I'm not getting external validation, and it poisons my interactions with other women, in particular. I have an unceasing need for validation from men because it blunts the self-hatred temporarily. I feel like I see things too clearly when I'm sober. I see the value that society assigns me, and I rage against it in the absence of belief in my own worth.
Therapy doesn't help. My shrink tells me to work on developing hobbies or to try to take more joy in my education. I often feel as if she's trying to convince me to accept society's consolation prize, since I don't measure up to the standards which society sets for women. I wonder to myself, was it the same way for Cocteau? Did he see what the world really thought of him, and was he crushed by the weight of it? Is that why he took solace in opium?