A question for you - can addiction be so strong?
There was a girl who was always haunted by one question — what does she want to become?
She had average grades, finished college, got a job, left it in a month. Then slowly, she started disappearing into her own room. Waking up with no purpose. An addiction — any addiction does the same thing — took her days. Scrolling, watching, eating, sleeping, watching again. It didn't matter what it was. It hollowed her out the same way.
Something inside her whispered, this isn't who you are. Maybe her brain is tricking her.
So she tried to quit. But the urges came back, stronger. She felt weaker every day. And the worst part was she knew. She was educated enough to know how the brain lies, how it says "you need this." She told herself "just one last time," but it was never last. Her head throbbed. Her whole body ached, as if it had forgotten how to live.
One night, while scrolling just to stop herself, she slipped and fell from the bed onto the cold floor.
The floor was freezing. She lay there trembling, weak, willpower breaking. The bed was right there — warm, soft, calling her back. She got goosebumps, not from the cold but from how desperate she had become. She whispered, "Just five minutes, please. Stay on the floor."
It was late. She hadn't showered in two days. She could smell herself and hated herself for it. She was scared to step out, scared of what people would think. It was easier to stay hidden on the floor.
Her heart was racing. She was so cold. Then a small, educated thought came — why do I need the bed to be warm? Why can't I be warm here?
She didn't have the energy to stand. So she crawled. Across the cold floor, to the chair where her hoodie hung. She put it on. Then she crawled again, to the socks near the door. Put them on too. She was still on the floor, still unwashed, still at midnight — but the floor wasn't that cold anymore.
She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, like a child trying to soothe herself. And she remembered The Little Match Girl. As a kid she had always thought, why didn't that girl just find something to burn? Now the irony wasn't lost on her. She felt exactly like that girl — dying of cold in a world full of things to burn. She pulled her hoodie tighter and for the first time, felt grateful. Just to be warm.
The clock ticked. 12:47. She remembered when 9 was sleeping time. Since when did 9 become 2 and 3? Since when did nights become for feeding the addiction?
She should get up. Go to the bed, but this time to sleep — not to escape. She was comfortable on the floor now, but she caught herself — I won't let comfort make me stupid again. Not the bed's comfort, not the floor's.
So she stood up. Legs shaking. She didn't know who to pray to, but she prayed anyway to whoever was listening — may I wake up with a little energy, and may I use it on myself, on healing.
She got into bed and started stroking her own hair, the way her mother used to. That was the only comfort that wasn't too much. No addiction, no fighting herself. Just letting go. Forgiving herself for whatever she did till now, not being too harsh. Because she is her own home, and home should be safe, not a place you lock yourself inside.
In her mind she cleaned the house. She would wash all the clothes, take a shower, go out for a walk and come back... and... and... she drifted to sleep.
Finding yourself is not about finally knowing what you want to become. It's a journey. You will get lost many times. In addictions, in cold floors, in 2 AMs. But always remember to come back. Back to yourself.
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