Tonight’s update: Every day that I spent using drugs ended up having the same routine. I would wake up, feel like life is pointless, not care if I live or die, and not care if I shorten my life. Every time I would wake up hungover, I would shake it off thinking that I had survived yet another day. I adopted Chester so that I would have something that I wanted to live for. I’m happily married. I’m now doing things with my life that I actually enjoy. When it comes down to it, I still don’t know that I care if I personally live or die, but I know that I don’t want to die sooner because I coped with my depression in unhealthy ways when I was younger. I felt like no one else ever gave me a chance at a full life, so why bother doing it for myself? Now I feel like I should try to have a full life, and I can’t really undue the damage that was done. I’m not trying to start a pity party; I’m simply letting people hear that one day may come when they may wish they hadn’t used so many drugs in the past. Then again, everything I’ve lived through made me who I am today, so who would I be without all of those crazy nights? Damn you, circular logic!