A Reminder

Over ten years ago, I dropped my son and daughter off to school, in tears, as I was saying good bye for a month of treatment. It was probably the hardest day of my life. My son was twelve, my daughter almost 16, and I was nearly 50 years old, and wondering if in that moment was I the child or were my teenagers? The phenomena of addiction is something that a person cannot predict when in the throes of its powerful grip. What canĀ  be predicted though is the outcome if the right choices are made.

I was triggered tonight watching a cop show where a father was taken away while his eight year old cried in confusion, not understanding what was happening. It made me think of my son, and the quivering he had one morning in family group when he admitted his fear of his dad not coming home. That was one of the first moments I realized the brevity of my actions. The second was celebrating my daughter’s 16th birthday in a sterile guest room of the treatment center.

There are two directions I might go to help define the impact my actions had on that fateful day. My arrogance might have driven me away from my children, but I realized how important they were to me. I realized their unconditional love, teenagers having no idea what was happening with their father but still loving him, and wanting him in their lives meant the world to me, and yet, I still didn’t get it.

I went through weeks of intensive therapy to understand just why it was that addiction had taken over my life. I recognized the people closest to me were the ones I was pushing away. I understood eventually there was nothing more I wanted in my life than a second chance with my kids. I realized addiction had consumed me.

Not everyone gets the same opportunity to right their lives. I’m not perfect by any stretch, but I do understand the difference between good and bad choices. I made some bad choices and fortunately found the resources to find a way toward recovery. It is not easy, but seeing a crying child tonight helped to again see how lucky I am, and how important it is for all of us to understand the critical scope of addiction and our need to say strong while making good choices.

Just some thoughts watching television create yet another example of the power that illusion has upon the fragile nature of our reality.

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Addiction and Finding Beauty

Oh to discover a resolve,

to know just how easy it might have been,

now with years of solitude,

time enough to let one’s heart bend.

 

The sallow nature of my contempt

for a life beyond any circumstance,

that bellows the societal ill

I might wish to dissuade perchance.

 

When once sheer beauty is measured

in the safety of love without cost

only known to be a natural inkling,

with little agenda, ascertain no loss.

 

While walking in a solo atmosphere

there seems always a chaperone

of ugliness, wishing to know beauty,

and yet all along that love is known.

 

Oh to find the solace in natural age,

when all the soul has found complete

the offering of a peace, some tranquil

response, beauty without we compete.

Ugliness in Addiction and Recovery

If I could reach inside and rip out the pain that stops me in my tracks

I would do so and I let the ugliness drip off my fingertips,

because then I could choose to hold onto it,

or let it go, and watch it fall,

pull out the garden hose,

spray it into the soil,

until all around me I could see,

life is abundant, growing, and offers a peace,

a serenity.

The problem is sometimes addiction won’t allow a second chance,

we seem buried,

unable to get past the reality of our woes,

and even then, when we understand them,

we still fight for reasoning,

sometimes justifying,

this happened then, when, it was, because I wanted, it didn’t

really matter anymore to anyone.

I’ve been sitting in a chair today,

actually for days,

trying to get out,

but the vacuum hold is remarkable,

my body feels secure,

my mind is screaming,

as I look at the door, and realize,

it cannot stay open forever.

I wonder sometimes about real pain,

is it like this,

or is this just part of a visual game,

seems like I’ll never figure out a way to find the blockbuster,

instead, I’ll probably remain,

wishing purgatory could be

a safer place to be then I seem to realize.

Faces On Demons

Oh the (dark) places we go,

if only Dr. Seuss could remedy all,

perhaps the quiet abyss might no longer,

contain the strength,

the grasp sometimes

inherent in my every step,

the outlook of my day.

 

I sometimes wonder the strength of my addictions,

are the reason I move slowly,

perhaps in reason the justification

of lost principle,

allows me to wallow in my

sad and lonely way.

 

I’ve made mistakes,

they are plain to see,

unless you wouldn’t know me,

then maybe,

I could walk around in circles,

seem,

a bit more mistake free.

 

It is an inherent trait in our society,

to judge the person on your left and right,

in order some would argue,

to set your own demons free,

or am I only speaking of me.

 

I sometimes reflect on a world

of alcohol and drugs,

oh the sweet nectar

of setting myself apart

from every

symbol I felt of hope and faith.

 

The gambling arm,

set in tone the rest of me,

and for the little time I’d known,

I would seek refuge there,

only to come to terms,

with another bottle of scotch,

with an endless pour.

 

There is something remarkably beautiful

about peace,

peace of mind,

a peace to build our hopes upon.

finding peace,

inside the miracle of time.

 

I look to find all the faces,

that disturb my sleep,

in the middle of the night,

left staring at a wall,

rather safe than closing my eyes,

to once again,

know,

in the middle of a dream,

would there be an onslaught …

faces on demons.

 

We might suppose,

they’ll always be there,

quiet reminders,

like skeletons with favorite postures,

we liken them all,

to our own sheltered storm,

inside an expression at the county fair,

won’t allow a soul,

to imagine any other pain,

otherwise.

 

Occasionally when walking alone,

I do,

I choose with earnest,

to put my own,

face on demons,

I suppose it may appear absurd,

but rather than in a crowd,

I can own my own expression,

no longer under a shroud.

Purpose With Addiction

Oh there are these walls,

you can’t see them.

frankly I can’t either,

we can always feel them,

walking through a crowded market,

and the eyes,

the many faces that seem to know you are there,

and we wonder,

are we as obviously noticing them as they are,

realizing our world isn’t alone,

but rather,

we are all together,

fighting this machine,

goes far beyond who we are in the moment,

that’s when it all began.

 

The moment,

that clarifying incident,

the time our hearts hurt,

and yet,

we hadn’t realized the pain was not ours alone,

the world,

that local planet shit,

that place where we suddenly come to know,

the love and reason for living is suddenly,

questioning,

why,

we don’t know really,

not even now,

only real piece to hang onto,

is goodness,

we come to realize it does exist,

our hearts are capable of love,

the real thing,

the imagination once tested with artificial

stimulants,

has suddenly been taught to feel,

we do visualize beauty again,

the sun rose this morning and remarkable as it seems,

I …

I noticed.

Isolated Storm Clouds

See them and imagine the future,

an ominous purple haze of opportunity,

for it is the chaos of our lives,

allows change to overcome the static.

 

Seek a society of forgiveness,

the travels of pain sometime hidden,

yet the exposure to the elements

often a truly ominous test resilient.

 

When washed ashore in crude oil,

stains did seem to be eternal,

with each soaking, the mind,

nearly gave up on finding shelter.

 

It is in the addict’s eye

the storm will always remain,

it depends only upon a realization

that life contains sweet horizons.

 

We would only give attention

to the happiness we dwell upon,

a city scape, an ocean view,

a soft breeze in a given milieu.

 

The deep and threatening wall

of circumstance that will prevail

is only Nature’s manner of suggestion

we all would know to typically fall.

Conservative Happiness

I wonder sometimes if they all think,

process, imagine, find futile,

an effort to push a boulder aside.

I feel the clammy stone of a permanence,

both hands taking grip on a monstrous image,

finding the will,

and yet realizing it is not about strength

at all.

 

When forgiveness occurs, we do find a way,

to lean, to count upon, the girth

of our boulders will

hold us up, give us strength,

allow our hearts and mind to know

that though it will never go away,

sometimes the offer

is meant only to be stability.

 

I was walking along the beach the other day,

noticed,

the footprints in the sand,

I could tell by their depth and lift,

a certain happiness in the owner’s gait.

Perhaps a burden lifted

the illusion of the rock,

set aside for now to appreciate another day.

 

Rather than move or alter or deface,

I will continue to cleanse the porous response

the rock reminds us all,

there is a constant reminder,

in our eternity,

to live by a mistake,

is to recognize the beauty of our

humanity.