Addiction

Alright, as I’ve told you before, I used to be addicted to drugs.
I am an addict. I’m a firm believer that once you are an addict, you always are. You may not be using, but you’re an addict and I think that only addicts can fully comprehend that.
What I was addicted to doesn’t matter. At least not in my opinion, it’s just not important here. I can tell you that what it was is considered highly dangerous and those withdrawing are often put on suicide watch in one form or another.
If you’re addicted to something, you probably know. In fact, I know you know. You may strut or march around all day claiming at the top of your lungs that you’re not addicted at all. But both of us know, in the back of your mind that you are. It’s like a secret, you don’t want to admit- even to yourself.
I have been clean and away from it for seven years now, just a little over as the anniversary of my quitting has just passed. I’m pleased to say that a lot of the damage I did to myself- not all- is finally healed.
I think about it sometimes, more often than I’d like to admit. It’s a problem here, though not as badly as it was when I was hooked. I can see it, when I go to the store, on the faces of those doing it. I know they see it on my face too. I’ve thought about this quite a bit.
I have no scars, no haunted look, no physical embodiment of my addiction. Yet, there’s still something there. I’ve talked to others who were addicted to the same thing, and they agree. We’ll call it a she.
It’s like once she touches you, she leaves something behind. She’s always there, looking out at people. She also gives you the ability to see those who romanced her as well. It’s so hard to explain, but it’s just there, just beneath the service and easily spotted.
I know strangers see her on my face. We see each other out in public, eating or at Wal-Mart. We make eye contact and one of two things happens. We always acknowledge one another for who, or what, we are; in one way or another. It could be a slight nod of the head, a slight turn of the lip in an acknowledging smile. Or, one of us will quickly look away. That in itself is both an acknowledgement that we see each other and an acknowledgement that not only is she on that other person but in them as well. It’s sad.
Those closest to me, those that know about my long term love affair with her, have tried to see it. These people have never met her and never will, if I can help it. I ask them if they can see her, on my face, if there’s some difference that I don’t or can’t notice. The answer is always negative. Of course, they saw her clearly while we were together, but not now- not this long afterward. Mostly, I’m told I look just the same. Yet those that loved her with me, they rejoice that someone else has noticed the same thing- that same look.
It’s something to contemplate, that look. How do we know each other? What, exactly, has changed about our faces and why can’t we pin point exactly what it is? This is just what I’m thinking about today.
As for those of you who are addicted, if you can’t admit that you are to yourself, you’re not ready to quit. I think a lot of you know you want to. Again, it’s in the back of your mind and you don’t like the control she- that bitch- has. I’ve never been a part of any anonymous group but the first step really is admitting it.
Self introspection is really difficult, I know. It sucks. A lot of the time, you’re not going to like the answers you find and, subconsciously, you know that. You know it sucks, and you know it’s not gonna be what you want. So you don’t look. But really, what are you accomplishing by not knowing yourself?
If we’re both thinking about the same thing, dear reader, I’m going to leave you with a warning. Get out. “She” does not love you. If you can’t admit this to yourself, if you can’t ditch her, death is the only way out. It won’t take as long as you think. In a very small crew of people, more than I care to sit and count are already dead, because they stayed behind.
If you wanna talk about it, I’m can listen as much as I can talk. That’s a lot. Just let me know.
Have a great day, it gets better. Believe me, it can *always* get worse. So, cheer up, buttercup!

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