Addictions

Everyone’s addicted to something. The ones in the programs have it easier. They’ve named their demon. Hope they got it right. Did the gamblers in that anon bet on the right addiction? Did the Alcoholics really cork their demon in the bottle they left on the bar? Did the crack heads crack the right code? Did they pick the right “…I am a” fill in the blank? I’m cheering for them. Go, team, go! Rah, Rah, and shish ka bob. They’re heroes. Every one of them that stepped up to the mirror and said I got issues and I can’t fix them by myself. Heroes. All of them. I hope they got it right, get right, and stay right.

The ones in the programs are working on getting better. Quite frankly, that is enough. Working on getting better means not getting any worse and sometimes that’s a damn victory. The twelve steps are fucking mountains. Each one of them. I speak from experience. It’s a long climb up from the highs. You gotta know how low you really are just to get started. Mountains. Twelve of them, each an Everest without any rest. This shit ain’t for the faint of heart. It keeps you outta trouble though. When you are busy climbing mountains and facing demons, there ain’t a hell of a lot of time left to screw up other people’s stuff. The folks in the programs are fixing what they broke and doing the best they can. One day at a time.

Then there are the addicts that know they addicts but are too busy being addicts to do any healing. You know them. Various degrees of denial, stupidity, arrogance, and whatever the hell else you call bad choices about shit that will kill ya if you don’t quit. These are the boozers, shooters, and tweakers. So far gone they think they are going make it somehow when their world shrinks to nothing but moments between highs. They limbo in their own hell finding out new ways to answer the question how low can you go. Those folks are not in denial. They’re in fucking pain. They’re in the trap and they are pretty much useless to themselves and harmless to the rest of us. Sure, they lie, cheat, and steal to feed their habit. That’s life with you’re in that death trap. I’m cheering for them though. Hoping they wake up before the big dirt nap closes the lid on their pain. If not, they are pretty much screwed just like the folks that don’t even accept they are addicts.

That’s everybody else. The folks in the programs know and do. The addicts in the addictions know and do, too. They just know it’s wrong and they do it anyway. Everybody else doesn’t even know they are addicts. I hope they wake up before we all end up in their nightmare. The boozers, shooters, and tweakers are nothing compared to what the other folks can do. The ones that don’t even know they are addicted. Most of them have approved addictions. Addictions that are encouraged and advertised and rewarded. Those fuckers could kill us all.

Drunk with power. High on having stuff. All dockered up and beeming around suburbia like their shit doesn’t stink. They can afford it. Sometimes they can but they have good credit. Need it now. Gotta be better than the Jones and the Jonesing. My title is bigger that your title and my windows have a better view than yours. I am not sure what makes me happy but I am better than you and that’s makes me happy. Kinda. See you at the mall.

Step on up. Use your brother’s back if needed. He should have moved faster. Speed kills. Kills the slow fuckers that can’t keep up. It’s the latest. It’s the greatest. That is sooooo yesterday. Get with it. Gotta have it. Gonna have it. Haven’t been there. Let’s go there. Everyone is. Shit. How’d we miss that boat? Cruising along with the latest line and the coolest gadget. Don’t act surprised. I think they saw me in that. Need something new. Something subtle that gets their attention. What will they say? Hope it is good. Who cares what they say? They don’t know anyway. Only they matter. Not them. Can’t we move closer? Why not? You can figure it out. Everyone has two mortgages, four cars, and credit cards to the max. It’s life. Let’s live it up!

They make the tough choices. Tough in how much harder it gets to fool themselves as they go along. They begin to wonder. They go inside and ask the hard questions. The ones they ask at night under the moon. The ones the addicts asked in the bottle or when riding the rush. They ask themselves because the family will not know. The church will not know. No body will fucking know. They ask through tears, in fears, and without cheer.

Did I run away from the right things? Did I choose the right things? Did I really need all this stuff? Did it really make me happy or did it just help me pretend I was not sad? Did I really get answers or did I merely stop asking questions? Did I? Did I? What did I did?

Then they face the two words they hate. The two words they planned around, avoided, denied, and just hoped would go away. What if?

What if? Sometimes it begins sooner but too often it begins later. Later than they wished, sooner than they wanted. It begins when their kids have kids and they are just like they was when they had kids and their parents had that look on their face. The look of “you don’t have any idea of what to do so do what you are told.” Then there are the losers. The ones that made the other choices. The wrong choices. The ones that did what they hell they wanted. The examples of what not to be become the Sears Wish Book of would if I coulds.

Would if I could but there are the kids now. Would if I could but the company really needs me. Would if I could but no one in the family would understand. Would if I could but my church says that is wrong. Would if I could but I can’t. Wish I could. I just can’t. I just can’t. Really. I just can’t.

Say it a lot. I just can’t. Say until you believe it. I just can’t. Say it and maybe it will be true. I just can’t. Should not even be thinking about it. I just can’t. Doesn’t feel right to like it. I just can’t. Please help me forget how much it excites me. I just can’t. Binge. I just can’t. Purge. I just can’t. Deny. I just can’t. Bless me, father, for I have sinned. I just can’t. Dammit. Why can’t I? I just can’t.

The sigh is the sign. The sign of surrender. The sigh of giving up. The sigh of accepting that what you really want to do is wrong. The sigh of just giving up. It feels good. The family will be better off. The church will be better off. It means more time for the job and that means more money and that means more stuff and that means more fun and that means more vacation time and that means I am happy. So sigh a little. Close the lids choices and fucking die. Get it over with.