The Recovery


United States
34° 16' 38.7516" N, 118° 47' 23.1216" W

Every week I find myself, heavily, halfheartedly, hopelessly, ...alone, in my addiction councellor's office. The clock pounds out the conversation, tick tock tick tock, because quiet honestly I refuse to talk. I don't like strangers or need new friends, you don't know me because I don't want you to. Don't go there.
But if I could yell at her, at them, at you, then maybe I could make myself feel better than THEY ever did:
You stagger, you stumble, fall, mumbling, first the whispers float from your mouth, tangible, off, away into the stars (their listening), then shouts and screams and mad laughter like ravens, they clatter to the floor, they bounce off the pavement, the hallway it's twisting, morphing, spinning, those lights, where from? where to? that cold rush, red hot, sparkling blue, fireworks dance, fading whisps across your eyes, glazed over, mouth dry, so heavy, tired, high as a kite, not enough.

Tracks on your arms in the morning. Don't go there.

I don't talk to much. I wouldn't be surprised if no one ever knew my name. And that's okay. I would rather they see me that way anyway, in case one day things go the wrong way, on the screen R.I.P E.V.E, you can say "she was quiet." Don't go there. Please. Don't take that home, because I did, one day sun shining, faces smiling, then I shot those dreams out of the sky, my prized possesions, the sound as they plummeted to Hell echoed like the crackle as you heat that spoon.

Little sister at the time, maybe eight, could be nine, hesitates before a hug because of the things I've done and I crumple. Distrust. And just like that it's over.

I don't know you, but I know you've never said sorry as much as I have, That tiny tear stained face, hit that pipe so it's erased, sometimes it comes back, but it doesn't always come back, isn't it a shame that those kids don't always come back. Sometimes I wish I hadn't come back. I'm not the hero that she needs here, this heart it bleeds here... and i'm trying. And coming through that light at the end of the tunnel where the cross meets the altar, I died and was reborn there. Now I don't know you, but you're wonderful, and I don't know you but you're someone's light in the dark. Don't burn yourself out before the shine hits its prime.

Go anywhere but there.



This piece is so much more than a cry for help. It is a beautiful piece of work that shows someone recovering and healing little by little the more you read. Thank you so much for sending this in. We all hope you are doing okay. Have you written anything else since the last time you wrote this, about your recovery? I would love to read it.


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