I once heard a sober alcoholic say that drinking never made him happy, but it made him feel like he was going to be happy in about fifteen minutes. That was exactly it, and I couldn’t understand why the happiness never came, couldn’t see the flaw in my thinking, couldn’t see that alcohol kept me trapped in a world of illusion, procrastination, paralysis. I lived always in the future, never in the present. Next time, next time! Next time I drank it would be different, next time it would make me feel good again. And all my efforts were doomed, because already drinking hadn’t made me feel good in years.
—  Heather King, Parched

I’m waiting everyday for my mother to die and I’m not even ashamed anymore. She’s lying in her own filth slowly withering away and resists every attempt to help her. So I… Won’t help her. I’m done. When she kicks the bucket I won’t shed a tear. I’m tired of pretending that I owe her something just because she gave birth to me.