Grateful Addict

For most of my life, I lived with a little kid— nagging, picking, pulling at the back of my shirt— come here, come on, you need me, you must have me, I will make you better, you can't do it without me, you need me. Like an annoying little sister, clinging to your every move, demanding your attention and seeking only the most negative of response. And like any good drug addict, my most negative response is what she got.

She was my only comfort, she was all I ever knew, so sickly co-dependent I didn't know how to let her go. I didn't want to let her go. She took away all the pain, the anxiety, the awkwardness, the frustration, angst – she took away everything.

It took years to unravel, years to get so broken, finally so sick, so tired of her shit, that I had no choice but to kick her square in the shin, rip that sweaty shirt from my back that she clung to, and throw it so fucking far away that she could no longer grasp it, or even see it. It took more pain then most can fathom, emotional and physical, more loss, more isolation and degradation; I am not sure most would survive and come out on the other side the way I have.

She has been gone for a while now, but I see her from time to time. She is never where I would expect, however; I never find her in the crowd at the mall, I never see her crossing the street, and she never comes to work with me or hangs around at social gatherings. I see her in my most vulnerable moments, times when I am alone, when I least expect it. Usually times when everything in life seems to be going great, no tall hurdles to jump, no curve balls to catch. I might be driving down the road and glance in the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse, those green eyes so bright, yet so dark, there she is, and I see her, and she calls to me. When I step out of the shower, through the steam and condensation dripping down the mirror, she peers back, every now and then. And sometimes, when it is quiet, like super dead silent, I hear her, she speaks, her voice so sweet, and warm, and sleepy— that nostalgia— and her scent... I smell her, maybe more than I ever see her.

A grateful person does not destroy their life. A grateful drug addict does not put drugs in their body. Today, by the grace of a power greater than myself, one I have yet to define, and my own blood, sweat & tears, I continue to move forward, continue to move along further away from her grasp. No matter where I see her, hear her, or even when I simply miss her. I choose life. Not death.

My clean date is the only solid & for sure thing in my life. The only tangible thing that cannot be taken, garnished, or stolen, that I own. And I do own it. I own that day— I made my decision, the only decision I have been able to stand by perfectly every day since, one day at a time, consistently and without fail, to not get loaded, no matter what. She stole from me for many years, and the disease she left me with, still takes from me regularly, but she cannot take my day, or the days that have followed, my time, my recovery. It is mine, and I treasure it.

I hope to share with you through this platform, my personal experience, strength, and hope. Get ready for one hell of a ride, and stay tuned for more.