ayurvedium

i am an addict in recovery. as part of my recovery, i had to write a "goodbye" letter to my addiction:


I remember our first date. It was a blind date, really, in the sense that I didn't know that we were going to hook up. Someone introduced me to you at a party, an "after rehearsal party." I was a freshman at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh. I'm glad I didn't know we were going to meet because otherwise I would have been nervous. I took a deep breath of your scent and I felt very comfortable. You brought out the best in me. We had fun. We laughed and giggled, and we were very hungry.

I let you seduce me. It was very good. I couldn't get enough. And you whispered in my ear that you'd always be there for me, when no one else would be, and that you'd never let me down. I took you up on that promise. I cheated with you. I had several girlfriends, but I always paid attention to you. After all, that's what you demanded. When they couldn't be there, you stepped in. And you were right. You never left me. I went to school with you. I performed with you. I wrote with you. I drove with you. I stayed up late at night with you. And once again, you were right. You were my best friend for almost 8 years.

When I met Molly, I think you were jealous. You wanted to include her in our relationship. A "marijuana a trois." And so we did. She was very open and didn't mind this three-way relationship. But when she decided she'd had enough of you, she dropped you, cold. She didn't mind if you and I hung out. You just tightened your grip on me.

There were times when you had to go away. Never for long. But long enough to make me ache and panic, and realize that I needed you, and start to feel sick and confused. Sometimes I felt like I was going to throw up. Sometimes I could feel the bile rising in my throat, burning my gums. And then, just in the nick of time, when I thought I'd go crazy, you came back. You really paid attention to me. And when we got back together, you'd swear that you would never leave me again. And fuck, I believed you! It would be smooth sailing for a while, and then you'd leave again. And when you came back, you'd whisper in my ear, "I'll never leave you, honey. I'll never leave you, sweetheart."

You were part of every breath I took. You helped me rewire my brain. I became merely a receiver, no longer capable of transmitting. When I was hurt, you were the medicine. When I felt good, you were the enhancer. And when I was raped at gunpoint by a madman, you took my hand and said I'll walk through the fire with you. And you did, and I was grateful. And again you leaned into my ear and whispered, "I'll be with you forever. I'll never leave you again." And you were right. You didn't.

Despite this illicit affair, Molly never threatened to leave me. The police ignored me. The legal system ignored me. I ignored me. Finances were never a problem. I'd spend whatever I could on you. Sometimes I thought I'd put our household in jeopardy. Molly said: "we'll work it out." She seemingly wasn't a jealous companion.

Sometimes, I tried to leave you. But my brain, my heart, my soul - my skin - was tattooed with you. It was the longest and best honeymoon anyone could have. And it was fun. Sort of.

Well, I've gotta be honest with you. Too much of a good thing can make me sick. Earlier this summer, I realized that you interfered more than I thought. I could list all the things you robbed me of, in the guise of being my constant companion. But that would take another ream of paper. In pretending you were everything to me, you actually took everything from me, and left me a shell, capable only of reacting, not responding. When I realized what was happening, last spring, it was like watching a car accident in slow motion. Ahead of me I saw Molly, my long-lost friends, my cats, my family, stepping out onto the road. I hit the brakes. You got scared. And you took off. I hit the brakes hard, forgetting everything I learned about Wisconsin winters and how to properly steer on ice. I slammed those brakes hard, in the new car Molly had given me for Christmas. And I started to skid.

I came so close to hitting those people. But I think my higher power decided to intervene. This was pretty cool, because I didn't even know I had a "higher power." You had been my higher power. I wanted to stop but didn't know how to stop. My friends, who I almost hurt, said "let us show you how to stop."

I feel your panic, now. I feel the bile rising in your throat. Your whispers in my ear have turned into a needy scream. I think that you thought that you would let me go through the process of cleaning up my act, and then you would step back into my life, having a big laugh at my expense. At the expense of everything. But our relationship had sickened me, and for a while, in a weird perverse way, even though I knew that you were bad for me, I thought I might not be able to live without you.

Well, guess what? Surprise! Last Thursday, I received our "divorce papers" (my 100% clean tox report). I found out that I was living without you. I found out I was reclaiming my life. I found out that the rewiring of my brain was working. I'd like to say I feel sorry for you, but I don't. You invested so much in me, and didn't get the big payoff. I feel sorry for the next lover you take, because you are beguiling, you are seemingly innocent, seemingly ready to give and ready to take.

The separation is complete. It's too late. No matter how you whisper, cajole, summon me, I won't take the bait. I can't. I'm breathing on my own, now. I'm tasting new tastes. Seeing through new eyes. Hearing, smelling, touching, loving, playing - and all without you. I have to admit, though, that sometimes you catch me by surprise. I don't need you, don't want you, and can live without you. But old habits die hard, and sometimes I will start to do something, and I think "but first, I'll give you a hug." That's the old wiring. And every time that happens, its impact is less and less. I banish you. I banish you from my brain, my heart, my soul, my skin. Go ahead, argue, plead, beg, cry, whimper. It's all to an audience of deaf ears. Out, demon, out!

Get the fuck out.

And let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

note: i will have six months sobriety on christmas eve.