Wine is culture. Weed is criminal. Pills are profit.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Addiction isn’t about the substance.
It’s about the story you’re allowed to tell while using it.
If you’re white, wealthy, sipping rosé in a sweater set—
it’s self-care.
If you’re poor, brown, broken, smoking anything—
it’s criminal behavior.
Prescription pills?
A wellness plan.
Street drugs?
A felony.
The same pain—different punishments.
The same need—different narratives.
And when you finally ask for help?
They assess your zip code before your symptoms.
Because it’s not about healing.
It’s about hierarchy.
You’re allowed to numb—
as long as it’s packaged pretty.
As long as your breakdown makes someone else money.
But the truth?
Addiction is a language.
It says, “I’m not okay,”
when no one else will listen.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because what the hell else is there?
