Mark bought another bag. He did a line half the size of the first. "I didn't feel the second hit at all. Just... black. I woke up in the hospital with a breathing tube."
You can map the stages: initial stumble, embarrassed self-scrutiny, compulsive rehearsal. Naming it helps—rumination, obsession, intrusive thought—yet names are only scaffolding. The loop is an architecture of attention, a house built of recollection and prediction, in which occupants are both witness and victim. Time collapses there; minutes smear into each other like rain down a window. The present becomes thin, an origami surface folded over the same sentence until its crease defines all else. hell loop overdose
In essence, it is a feedback loop of despair: Use → Overdose → Rescue → Panic → Use → Overdose. The user is trapped in a temporal purgatory between life and death. Mark bought another bag