No One Ever Thinks “I’m An Addict”

wp-1468034276706.jpg
I boasted on how clean I was.
How I never had any addictions.
How can anybody get hooked? On a drug? On alcohol? On anything?
That’s weak.

Just don’t try it.
As a woman who could quit drinking when she wanted, quit smoking when she wanted, quit meds when she wanted. I had the control. I showed willpower where others showed their lack of.
Their inferiority.

I knew my tendencies towards an addictive personality. Passed down the blood line. I knew not to go there with things I couldn’t trust myself controlling. Temptation and a rebellious nature have no business playing together.

But I failed.
I chose a drug…

I chose love.
A drug that has left me clinging to life. Not seeing myself in the mirror. Succumbing mentally and physically to its power. Selling parts of my soul for a taste of its magic. Bargaining my mind & body for its seductive touches. Counting the clock until my next hit. Trading respectability for its shallow promises of forever. Feening for its presence.

Cold sweats…fever…anxiety attacks…phantom aches…nausea…moments when I can barely breathe…times when all I can do is rock myself to sleep…nightmares that jar me awake. Keep me awake. Love I knew, I thought I had. Love that blinded my judgment. Love that was once fun & recreational became something dark & tainted. Love that played tricks with my mind leading me to believe it was good knowing it was the exact opposite. The highs so good…time paused.

But when the highs subsided…the lows told every truth I’d forgotten.

How did I let it get this bad? This desperate? How did I let myself get here?

Tears surface. I suppress them as I write.

The conscious pain lies beneath my core; I dare not acknowledge it. I’m keeping myself clean. I haven’t used in a few days. Not long enough but I have to start somewhere. I think about it every single day. I want it so badly sometimes I would kill for it.  I tell myself maybe I can just have a little. I can manage it. I can quit whenever I want. But I can’t. I don’t trust it nor do I trust myself with it anymore.

Never will I judge another addict. I never thought I was until I realized I was.

Roses are Red…

Image property of https://www.forepiphanyssake.com

Even with its withered leaves, the beauty remains. The rose.

A random stroll
On a chilly Fall night
Her face illuminated by the street lights
Mine illuminated by her gaze
Two grown teenagers looking up at the sky
Star gazing, plane chasing
“Wait, which way is the airport?”
We became human compasses gauging east and west until we decided, that way
Wondering where they were headed
Some place we should go I was thinking

Suggesting we walk the neighborhood
“Let’s see how far it goes”
We made it down the hill
And just around the corner
Until the chill only an anemic can feel
Said no.

She stopped
at the bush on the corner
A bush in the neighbors yard
Of roses
She kinda loathes flowers, roses especially
So I’m looking at her
Trying to pick this one rose
Almost fighting with it
I laughed and said
“They do have thorns you know
You have to pick it with your…”
When she yanked it free from its vine
Showed me her fingers like a child with a boo boo, “See.”
And handed it to me.

From a random bush
On a random night
In a random moment
She gave me love
in a single red rose.

Conversations With That Girl Who Stares At Me

Are you happy?
No.
Why not?
Because I’m sad.
But why are you sad?
Because I’ve not yet found happiness.
What makes you happy?
I don’t know anymore.
When’s the last time you were happy?
Yesterday. I wished it lasted longer.
What about it made you happy?
I was with people that loved me even to the point of annoyance but they loved me and I could feel it.
What’s missing?
Everything I think.
Are you in pain?
I think.
How do you plan to fix it?
I don’t know yet. I don’t know.
I have more questions…
Let me find the answers.

Puts down mirror…

I Miss Her Most on Sundays…

wpid-screenshot_2015-04-26-14-19-42-1.png

On Sundays…

we would cook our meals. Sharing the space called kitchen.

I, in her way.

Her, in mine.

But we loved it. We had the most genuine smiles

On Sundays…

we prayed through the mornings. Churched it in the afternoon.

Lazy moments spent on the sofa

Provided the best ‘spoons’

The breeze from the patio, the whisp of the ceiling fan

Made life a little more livable and two fools more lovable

On Sundays…

The park called our names, hurried us there…carrying our troubles away

if only for those minute hours

we lay among the flowers, sharing our hopes

Dreams for the future, laughing hysterically

at nothing, at the whole of it all

On Sundays…

The beginning of a new time, the end of another

Sundays were the times we spent together

where the world existed of us. For us. With us. Just us.

where heaven was on land

where I loved her and she me and loving was our plan

Our greatest times, our defining times

were made

On Sundays….

I guess I feel nostalgic

over days that’ve gone & past

Milling over all that was, remembering the good of it and also the bad

I don’t know how she spends those days now

we’ve not spoken in awhile

I miss her still

Though it doesn’t show

I miss her most

On Sundays…