Biswajit Gogoi

I didn’t plan to write this today. But maybe I’ve been meaning to. For months. Or years. Addiction didn’t start with a decision. It started with forgetting. One time turned into many. And slowly, I lost track of what I was trying to forget in the first place. I wasn’t chasing highs. I was hiding, from myself, from people who asked if I was okay, from the things I wanted to do — like writing. There were poems I never finished, books I never read, messages I never replied to.

Each time I opened a book or picked up a pen, something inside me would pull back, as though the weight of expectation was too heavy to bear. I told myself I would get back to it later — but later never came. The words danced in my mind, teasing me, whispering their stories, but I turned a deaf ear, drowning them out with distractions and when it all got too much, I told myself,

“Next time I’ll stop.”

But I didn’t. And that hurt too. I wrote To The One Trying during the quietest parts of my life —

when even a cup of tea felt like a victory, every sip was a reminder that I was still here, still fighting. Each day was a battle, and in those fleeting moments of clarity, I sought to express the chaos inside. Here’s one of the poems from that time:

Twenty Joints in the Air

Wake up.

Light up.

Scroll. Forget —

Laugh at a meme

I forgot an hour ago.

Try not to feel

everything at once.

not broken bones, just broken plans.

If you’re here reading this —

maybe you know what I mean.

Perhaps you’ve found yourself in the labyrinth of your thoughts, wrestling with an unseen foe. Maybe, like me, you understand the paradox of seeking solace through something that ultimately leads to greater loneliness. It’s a struggle many face, though it often remains hidden beneath a veil of normalcy. We paint smiles on our faces, but inside, the storm rages on.

I hope that by sharing this, some of those unspoken feelings you carry can find their voice, reminding you that you are not alone in this journey.