Addiction is unfortunately, something I've battled with for decades. It has affected my family, my friends and more recently, my love life. This year, has been a year of recovery. Of learning to accept the things I cannot change, while keeping an open heart - not letting myself become callous despite my years of disappointment and loss.
It hasn't been easy. In fact, its been all too exhausting. But I'm getting there. With art and poetry, time with my dogs and of course my amazing group of friends and loved ones. With this, I can get some of the heartache out, I can drain it.
And now, I've started over.
The Habit of Searching
The dogs still run to the front door every time
they hear a loud engine come through the neighborhood.
I’m not sure if they’re looking for you,
or just remembering you.
But, they notice. They wait.
For a while, I did the same thing.
We all waited by the door like dogs.
There were times you loved me, I think,
before catching you nodded out on the
corduroy couch downstairs
became a morning ritual.
Once, the mere presence of you put breath in my chest.
However, the empty pill bottles hidden under
the sink drained me of it entirely.
And before I noticed the starving rent envelope
growing thinner and thinner each month -
I could have sworn you were it, my soul mate.
You were supposed to be, sweetheart.
Didn’t you know that?
In the beginning, you’d whisper it into my ear,
Thinking I was asleep.
“If there is a God,” you said,
“he brought me you.”
You knew those little blue pills
could keep a secret better than I ever could.
The oxycontin’s sterilized scent
is undoubtedly more seductive than the
lily scented perfume I dab gently on my wrists.
I know those pills had you in their grips.
They must have had you,
where you had me.
And baby, I know you’re no fucking good.
I’ve tried to bury you.
I’ve spent the last 435 days trying to forget you.
The last 300 telling myself, ‘I’m better off without you’.
No more panic attacks about my car keys going missing,
Or how I’ll be able to afford the groceries.
I’ve spent The last 126 days,
trying to understand
you took my hope, sweetheart.
You took my faith.
The habit of searching has left me
desperate for phantoms
Sometimes I even expect to see your
shadow, sitting high on the balcony,
your shoes by the front door.
We know it’s over now.
You aren’t coming back.
the dogs and I still hear that
piece of shit red Blazer every night.
We still wonder if