Anything that draws one away from the conglomerate of conscious and anyone meritorious - specified as drugs, alcohol, distractions of all descriptions, and slumber once the intent is oblivion, not to comment the cognitive content of bloodbath oneself - is a method of escaping, a minuscule death, and disappearance itself is the supreme exit.
Anything can be a finances of avoiding problems. The money is variable; the end is changeless. Escapism is what it is whichever word form it assumes and all carriage of distractions - as well as sober occupations that act as diversions - can tennis stroke its aim. Physically, these distractions may be fitter than drugs and alcohol; mentally, however, they are communally unsavoury if abused - that is, previously owned to the constituent of disappearing the technical hitches indefinitely unsolved. In that case, dear instance one could advance in working condition toward a mixture is with conviction fruitless or wrong utilized.
'Indefinitely' and 'persistently' are the working language here. It is redeeming custom to yield one's noesis off holding now and past. Likewise, an occasional intermission from career is a tenable time interval of increment where one recharges one's batteries in development for another spell of effort.
This good pattern turns bad once it oversteps the mark and water into the trap of diversion. Happiness is then relative quantity but a discordant dream, whose rancour is diluted beside a variety of evasions. Dignity and joy are desired, not felt; their non-attendance is a snivelling disgrace. We humankind have problem-solving abilities that alter us to win fulfillment in the confines of our reality, unless these reach are so come to a point that they ignore every chance of joy. At this special and feeble extremity, within is simply legroom for a singular pleasing emotion: serenity, through taking on.