Dear Addiction

At a family day at the last treatment center I was given homework…. I had to sit down and separate my husband from his addiction…. then I had to write a letter to his addiction.  So here it is…….

Dear Addiction,

I am not sure where to start, I look into the mirror and I no longer see the strong, vibrant, free, fun loving young girl I once was.  I now see a tired, sick, anger, broken and bitter woman.  I am not sure when I become this person, I suppose it is from the past few years of carrying burdens that were not mine to bear.  Addiction, you have made me into something I can even stand to look at.  I think the thing I hate most is the monster that lives inside of me.  The rage that I have become unable to control inside of me when faced with you.   At times it almost feels like I am watching someone else, a movie of someone else’s life.

I have talked, begged and plead with God more in the last few years that I have in my entire life.  Sometimes begging that my love one could just walk away from the hold you have on them, sometimes thanking God that my love one is safe after a weekend of dancing with the devil, and still I feel further from God than ever before.

As I sit and reflect I wonder what else you have stolen from me.  What things are lost forever and what things can be recovered?   Addiction, you have taken my home, a place that is supposed to a place of comfort and security, has become a place of fear and a place a chaos. What is even worse is that this chaos has begun to feel normal. When you show your ugly face in our home you never know what the night might hold. The nights of chaos at times have turned into some of the ugliest physical altercations I have ever seen.  Addiction, you have turned me into abuser and the abused.  The physical altercations don’t bother me so much, those wounds heal. The emotional cuts and bruise from the words we throw around in anger and drunkenness, those seem to stay with me far longer, most of which you do not recall.  It reminds of an African proverb: The tree remembers what the axe forgets.

As I write this letter I find myself thinking about what you have taken from me but I also am heartbroken about what you have taken from world.  My loved one is intelligent, kindhearted and at one time in his life had a passion to help others.  He was a medic, whose only goal in life was to help others people during what could possibly be the worst moments of their life, Addiction you stole his passion for his career and his passion for life.

All of these things are things you have stolen from me for which time can recover.  When I look at things that cannot be recovered it’s the time we have lost.  Addiction, we have been waiting on you to leave so that we could start a family, however, it just seems unfair to ever bring another human into this chaos, it saddens me most because what if my mother never gets to be a grandmother and I never a mother.

Sitting down to write this letter has made me do some soul searching, and brought me back to something I learned in church growing up which I think all of us can relate to its pretty simple…. Love the sinner, not the sin….. or in our case Love the addict, not the addiction.

 

Love,

The Wife of An Addict

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Grey Street By: Dave Matthews Band

This song is my current anthem to my life. Just want to share.

“Grey Street”

Oh, just sitting while she listens
She says I don’t need this place
It seems a million years she’s stuck here
But says nothing of what she thinks

She thinks, “Hey,
How did I come to this?
I dreamt like anybody else one night
I would be a beautiful princess.”

But then the roads in the park fall
And then she rode the line in
And the colors mix together to grey
And break me out

Oh, when I’m indifferent
She prays to God most every night
Although she swears He doesn’t listen
There’s hope in her that He just might

She says, “I pray
But then my prayer fall on deaf ears
I’m supposed to take it all myself
To get out of this place.”

She feels the lumps in the heart fall
And she rose up in the back
She hears the cars scream out from outside
And she whispers sometimes about this
But the colors mix together to grey
And wake me up

Oh, he grows up living
He says take what you can from your dreams
Make them real as anything
It takes the work out of the courage

She said, “Please,
There’s a crazy man standing outside my door
I live on the corner of a dead end street
At the end of the world.”

Oh, and the rocks out in the heart fall
And she dreams her way to life
And she knows no one will lift her
So she might as well do it herself

And then bummed out and worried
Of leaving city life
But all the colors mix together to grey
On Grey Street
On Grey Street
To Grey Street

Oh, when it comes down in your loving
Oh, well then baby it’s right
You say you think you are nothing
No one else will do it for you
Reach up and grab hold of the sunlight
When you are waiting for what’s right
You’re holding on your Heaven
Won’t leave you, yeah, yeah…

And the colors mix together to grey
Wake me up, wake me up, wake me up
To grey.

My Truth:

I have always told myself that if people knew my truth, the things I have faced, the trials and tribulations that I have overcome, most people couldn’t look me in the face.  I fear daily that the fake facade that I have maintained for some many years may become exposed for what is really underneath.  I have always told people close to me that if they knew the truth about me and what I have been through and what I face daily most of them couldn’t even look me in my face…. but that is my truth to bear.

The nightmares, the nightmares at times are uncontrollable. They seem so real, I wake in a panic and I need to get out and get out right away.  Problem is how do you get out of your own home, your own bed, your own head.  So you lay there and you pray to God, but you wonder if he even listens, because if he did, how could this still be my life, but you hope they don’t fall on deaf ears.

By my 34 birthday I had saved my addicts life at least 2 times, you see this alone changes you.  The first time was 31 days after he had asked me to be his wife, and spend the rest of my life with him, and the he set down that evening and ate more than 500 Tylenol, people don’t survive this.  The second time was 30 days before our wedding when I found him in bed struggling to breath, unresponsive, and coded shortly after EMSA arrived at our home. And I wish that I could tell you why I didn’t turn and run at that time but I didn’t.  The good in me thought you dont leave the people you love the most when they are hurting. My weakness has always been that cared too much. So I walked down that aisle and I married the person who had been my best friend for 14 years with a life full of promises and that turned out to be lies.  I wish that this was his rock-bottom, but this isn’t about him, this is about me.

After five years of him choosing his addiction over me, I become jaded and lonely, my heartt became to hurt, the physical altercations becomes worse.  I began to struggle more and more with depression and anxiety.  Wondering how I would I find him when I get home, but this became by normal my life.  My addict would get so messed up you find him unconscious in random places, one night I was out with my cousin and we knew he was high and probably unconscious and she said ” we will probably find him dead”  At the moment I knew I wasn’t fooling the people closest to me.

It was time to walk away, it was time to face the fact that I had been living with PTSD for months, maybe even years.  I use to think PTSD was only for soliders, but then I realized I too was suffering from the same symptoms.

The hardest thing is the loneliness. My heart ache and sometimes you find yourself looking for anything to feel that loneliness.  BUT I can tell you right now that I am become a better person daily.

I Got Flowers Today By: Paulette Kelly

beautiful bloom blooming blossom
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As a spouse/ or ex-spouse of an addict, we know that sometimes domestic violence goes hand in hand with this ugly disease.  We also know this abuse doesn’t stop with the physical abuse, funny thing is I found those wounds healed, it was emotional abuse that hurt much longer and harder to deal with.  I can remember the first time he put his hands on me, I convinced myself that it was my anger problem that caused the issue and if I could just get that under control, these altercations wouldn’t occur.

I found this poem today and it hit me in the gut.  While I remember many of nights, that my addict was using (whether drugs or alcohol)  physical altercations weren’t uncommon.  The next day, it was always I don’t remember, or you started it.  Even when he was “working a program” and working step 5 (Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.)  These physical altercations/ abuse didn’t even make the list, but honestly, that is none of my business.  The hardest thing for me ever hear was when my parents (all of them mom, step dad, dad and step mom) set me down and told me that their biggest fear was that he would kill me and kill himself.

I Got Flowers Today….

By: Pauletter Kelly

I got flowers today,

It wasn’t even my birthday or any other special day,

We had our first argument last night,

And he said a lot of cruel things that really hurt me.

I know he is sorry and didn’t mean the things he said.

Because he sent me flowers today.

I got flowers today,

It wasn’t our anniversary or any other special day.

Last night, he threw me into a wall and started to choke me.

It seemed liked a nightmare.

I couldn’t believe it was real.

I woke up this morning sore and bruised all over.

I know he must be sorry.

Because he sent me flowers today.

I got flowers today,

And it wasn’t Mother’s day or any other special day.

Last night he beat me up again.

And it was much worse that all the other times.

If I leave him what will I do?

How will I take care of my kids?

What about money?

I’m afraid of him and scared to leave.

But I know he must be sorry.

Because he sent me flowers today,

I got flowers today.

Today was a very special day.

It was funeral.

Last night he finally killed me.

He beat me to death. If only I had gathered enough courage

And strength to leave him,

I wouldn’t have gotten flowers today.

Domestic Violence is real:  Please if you are currently a victim of DV please get help.

1-800-799-7233

All She felt was pain

And she was lost,

she didn’t know what she felt anymore,

she was both happy and sad at the same time.

 

She would never tell

how she felt,

and would never feel good enough

for anyone,

not even herself.

 

She would laugh,

and she would smile.

she would act like everything was fine

but she knew

she was living a lie,

behind her smile

she held a broken heart.

 

She would forgive over and over again

just because she was afraid to lose

someone who never saw her real worth.

 

She expected to much

and never learned to let go,

she got attached to fast

and when time cam,

a part of her was gone.

 

And all those promises

in which is believed

flew away just like the wind.

 

And she waited,

and waited,

but he never came.

 

All she ever wants

is to never feel again

because everytime she feels,

all she feels is pain.

 

Some days

Some Days

Some days I blame him, someday I blame myself. Some days I chalk it up to us being two people who simply didn’t work out. Some days I can’t stand the though of him, other days, hes all I want to think of. Some days I ask God to hurry up and take him out of my heart…help me to fall out of love. And maybe it’ll be like that for awhile- in and out of my emotions, back and forth in my mind… and maybe I need to stop beating myself up because of it, I mean shit, I should know better, the healing processes takes times -CiCi B

Just look into Her Eyes

The teardrops run down,

And fall off her nose,

she cries in dark corners,

where nobody goes,

you can follow the tracks,

from her eyes to her chin,

years upon years,

of letting them win,

And her eyes tell a story,

of anger and pain,

You think that she’s happy,

But just look again, and the scars of her past,

Hidden under her clothes,

Are a roadmap to places,

that nobody knows,

her smile is now painted,

she’s a master of disguised,

And you can see it all,

just look into her eyes.

I was your cure….but you were my disease… I was saving you but you were killing me

I was your cure, but you were my disease.  I was saving you but you were killing me.

WOW!  How many of you have lost yourself trying to save your love one??  I know I have!  I don’t even recognize the person I have become.  I hate the person I see in the mirror.  As I sit here locked in my bedroom because my husband decided to spend the evening with his mistress.  I say that jokingly, kinda, but I am sure most of you reading this understand, my husband’s mistress isn’t a woman, its a bottle of vodka.

I have not been a person that has attended Al Anon regularly, I have been to meeting or two but that is it.  However nights like tonight make think…..how true is Step 1??

!.  We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

At this moment, right now…. I am powerless and my life is unmanageable!  Hello gut check!

 

Why she stayed…

Last night while struggling with what to do next I stumbled across this poem.  And it hit me right in the gut…. so here it is.

Why She Stayed

By:  Nikita Gill

He is a storm,

and storms devastate,

but every time he hurts you,

you hold your breath

and bear the hurricane;\

repeating to yourself

One more chance

One more breath

just one more,

and you’ll fix him

 

Until one day you can’t

hold your breath anymore,

and you are

half a stormy evening,

one tear stained night,

two minutes

and five seconds

away from breaking down.

 

And you realize,

you cant fix anyone,

not until you fix yourself.