Pain cuts deep.
Past the surface.
Through bone and flesh.
What happens next…
The lies I once believed,
The whispers in my ears.
The fear born deep within,
Accepting as truth, what I would hear.
Following the insidious leadings,
Into the realm of self destruction.
Smothered by a heavy darkness,
To which I’d helplessly succumb.
Now that power has faded.
Lies replaced with God’s truth.
Fear is buffered within me,
By a shield of faith I lift and use.
I can resist the temptation, when hurt,
Which once locked me in chains.
Tonight I did not drink or use,
Only God could make that change…
I happened to run into a person I knew on an acquaintance level in AA- at a hospital AA meeting. This is not a meeting I go too. She is inpatient for detox and drug/alcohol rehab. There is more to the back story, but in general our reconnecting seemed quite supernaturally guided. Hope you are all well.
Witness to a familiar despair.
Eyes filled with tears, yet void of hope.
Questions swirling in unorganized fury.
Where to from here? You do not know.
Behind heavy, locked doors,
Flashlights frequent your closed eyelids.
Rows of rooms filled with strangers,
An energy of demoralization exists.
Well perfected masks, cracking all around.
Truths withheld due to fear.
Pseudo camaraderie, thirsty to connect.
Afraid to stay, and afraid to go back “out there”
Battered by cruel and abusive emotions,
Lies hauntingly scream of future failure.
Heart and mind blocked from receiving,
Help from those who’ve been there.
You can’t recall arriving.
Twenty eight days, one pair of clothes.
No friends or family to call,
Feeling isolated, pathologically alone.
I’m glad I saw you; I’m sure that was God.
We hadn’t spoken since last year.
Simply AA acquaintances, yet I felt an intuitive pull,
A new meeting, I’m sure God brought me there.
I pray for God to show me how to help.
I pray you receive it…
So, this is how you are choosing to die?
This is how you want to go out?
Throw caution to the wind, screw it all,
Get loaded till your six feet underground?
And for what? Manufactured alteration
Temporary tastes of euphoric ease
An early, sloppy death
Which stains the lives you leave?
What of the allure of this demise
I’m believe I’m meant for more
Why would I risk my life
When I know it’s worth fighting for?
The insanity surrounding me
The insanity raging within
Merging together endlessly
Will this torment ever end?
New sobriety date: May, 10, 2014
Some of you guys are familiar with my battle with drugs and alcohol. Well, I’m ready to “come out” about my recent relapse. I’ve been reserving my recent poetry because I needed time to talk to my family about it. One year, three months, and five days down- now I start the counting over. Here is the first poem expressing some of the feelings I had during the month I was “out”. Thanks for reading. Btw- I’ve quit again. Working in day four.
I didn’t want to believe it
I tried to deny it was true
Justified and rationalized
Until I finally knew
I knew I had messed up
I knew I had “slipped”
There was no turning back
Reality couldn’t be dismissed
One year, three months and five days
And my addictions returned
It happened, seemingly, in an instant
Despite all I had learned
Total devastation, defeated
My spirits crushed into hopelessness
The breath yanked violently
From my tight, hurting chest
A shade of lifeless alabaster
Crimson flood within my veins
Blinded by denial, I couldn’t see
I’d not been clean for days
This post comes from a daily reading I receive from the Hazelden Foundation. Addiction treatment, recovery literature etc. It really struck me- maybe it will strike a couple of you too!
To use the past without being controlled by it — that is our responsibility to history. Because the past is irrecoverably vanished, it’s sometimes tempting to forget it or to falsify it. But being true to ourselves means being true to our history.
Past cruelties can remain powerful in our lives — yet to take possession of our history means to free ourselves of bondage to past events. Nothing can ever change them. If we are to make the future good, we’ll learn what the past can teach us. But our freedom requires us to make choices based on the needs of the present, not the past.
I can act at every moment in such a way as to honor the past and enhance the future.
You are reading from the book:
The Promise of a New Day by Karen Casey and Martha Vanceburg
Another life lost,
To the demon addiction.
Death was his conclusive escape,
Not sure it was his intention.
While our aim is not always our demise,
We use with fierce intensity.
Seeking oblivion in any form,
Some sort of life-reprieve.
Despondent over failed attempts to stop,
This bondage is so difficult to evade…
Try as we may to fight it alone,
It’s hold is unrelentingly vicious.
It’s cold fingers grasp us by the throat,
Carving ownership brands into our flesh.
It’s easy to submit to the nagging pull,
Sometimes it’s just too hard to fight.
We buy into the illusion,
That this is our only hope, for life.
Rest for your soul I wish for you.
The tears no longer will plague your days.
Pains final release, what you were searching for,
Has arrived, just so sorry it ended this way…