I wake up. Brush my teeth. Do my hair and makeup. Leave for work. Stop at Starbucks. Finish driving to work. Work. Drive home. Resist the urge to indulge in my vices. Watch my comfort show. Cook dinner. Eat with family. Put my son to bed. Read. Go to sleep.
This may seem boring, but it is all I long for.
When you have an addiction, all of the ordinary, boring, cliche things that others go through day to day, seem so incredibly far from your life. So incredibly impossible to actually be involved in.
So many times failed to be part of it, because you let the demons win. You are a passenger in your own life, and you have forgotten how to get in the driver’s seat.
With addiction, you walk around with an invisible person on your back. Weighing you down till you get your fix. When you get your fix, it sits with you, reminding you how incredibly lucky you are to have them. How life would be so tragic if they were to leave. How functioning is no longer possible without them. No one loves them the way they love you.
Addiction doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a courtship that starts off respectful in distance and manner. It convinces you that you are special. That the outside world prefers you this way. You slowly, but powerfully, believe it, and long to spend more time in its arms. You don’t realize how hard it is hitting you until an outside being tells you that you aren’t the person you once were. You are thankful for that because the person you once were wasn’t who you wanted to be.
Maybe your mental health medications weren’t working well enough or fast enough to your liking. Maybe the supplement of your choice substance gave them the momentary push they needed to bring you an artificial peace, even for just a moment.
Things start to abruptly leave. No one ‘fades’ from your life, they actively show you they are leaving. You start to see that the functioning person you once were is now disregarding everything else for one more hit. One more drink.
You lose your job.
You have morphed into this creature that no longer sees themself in the mirror. You don’t know who you are, but your addiction holds tighter. One more hit and I’ll be normal. One more drink and I can make it through the morning.
You lose your freedom.
You think ‘this time I have hit rock bottom. I will change.” Your addiction blames the outside world for your actions and the consequences. Your addiction tells you that you know yourself, and it isn’t that bad.
You know it can always be worse.
It gets worse.
Your addiction becomes a weight growing, enlarging, festering under your skin. You wear long sleeves to hide it. You work on your smile in the mirror. You rehearse normal interactions so people will think that this shadow apart from your own, isn’t there. You stowaway your addiction until you are alone in the underworld it has given you. You shed the armor. You shed the lies. You shed the romance of being alive.
You do all of this. You give up all of it. You lose everything.
All for one more drink.
Bethany Writes 