POETRY: Weeds of Unrest

I received this passage from a faithful reader. Look over what's written from the other side of addiction and it's emotional aftermath. Her view is honest, sharp, painful, certainly a voice to those who have lived it. Salma F. writes this:

the other side of addiction

Weeds of unrest choke clear thoughts as depression springs up with ill regularity. This isn't exactly where and what I wanted to be in my life. I wonder about others - do they ever make it? The overwhelming anxiety of poor decisions cause me to think it's too late to pull my "titanic" around. I lost myself along the way - nothing is familiar to hang onto. I don't even have a place to put my clothes, we live in boxes, we live as animals. sleep- work, sleep - eat, work. He smokes and sleeps and lives for his "Greens" and uncharted life. even though I know it's him that creeps depression into our lives, I find myself blaming me. I could have changed everything with better decisions and sticking to my path. He blew through my life like a tornado. Now I don't recognize myself. I used to be ordered, confident and happy. I used to feel the hope of a future.

I have crashed from being strong to being a caretaker. I care for everything but me. I left my last relation to get away from this. Simplicity, finding life without an addict... and here am I again. Dormant gifts and talents are wasted away at work and jobs that suck me dry. Depression creeps all over and I cannot wash it off. Wholeness and beauty are faded, torn and burned by the smoke at the end of his habits.

It's an open cry with no sound, eyes with dry tears, thoughts spinning round in my head with no end. The cycle of addiction to substances overwhelms and creates in me inadequacy for NORMAL life. It's a constant drain, one day tearing apart, the next day to build only to collapse again. I feel no beauty or joy - I drudge through each day for fear someone may ask me "how am I?" Fear that I may fall apart and not recovery due the painful incidents and arguments. Holes, punches, and wicked words stay hidden. No one can know. I hate my weakness. I hate fake relationships with an addict of so many colors. I can not longer take the anger and deceit. However, as much as I hate the fakery, there is still life beneath the mask - that is what compels me to continue loving and standing by until wholeness is found.

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