Lorelie Rozzano is a guest blogger for Vertava Health.
The Best Resolution You’ll Ever Make – A Letter to Self.
With the arrival of a New Year, I realize, I may not be around much longer. It’s time for an honest talk. We haven’t had one of those, in a very long time. This letter isn’t about judging, shaming or blaming you. You do too much of that, already. No, this is different. This letter is about remembering.
The drugs have gotten hold of me in such a way, that I no longer know who I am.
I do horrible things to feed my habit. I lie, cheat, steal and hurt people. Does that mean I’m a bad person? I don’t feel evil. I feel sick. It’s like something powerful and hypnotic, has taken over me. Whatever this thing is, it’s calling the shots. Although it’s me using, it’s not. I know that sounds strange. But lately, I feel like a puppet that’s being moved around by an invisible hand. I think to myself, I’ll never do that and then to my horror, I do.
In order to survive my addiction, I killed my soul. I can’t bear to feel. It’s too hard, too overwhelming and way too painful. So each time I feel the slightest thing, I run to get high. I may not be bad, but I sure do feel like a zombie.
It’s not just me I’m killing, either. I regret the pain I cause my family. Because I can’t stand to see the hurt in their eyes, I get angry. I don’t want to be reminded of their pain, and lately, that’s all they want to talk about. So I run from them. I avoid them and worst of all, I blame them.
But there’s more. I can’t stand to look in the mirror now. The last time I did, I noticed my eyes. They were flat and lifeless. Staring into the glass, I began to understand. Drugs don’t just get me high, they steal the very essence of who I am, and what I was brought here, to do.
I am dancing with the devil. As long as I keep spinning, I don’t have to see. But for today, or right now at least, my eyes are open. Honest to God, it’s a horrifying view.
Yet as hard as it is to keep going like this, it’s even harder, to stop. Drug addiction is like crazy glue. The more you fight against it, the more stuck, you become.
Looking back, there are glimpses of who I used to be. I vaguely remember my dreams. I remember innocence, when I wasn’t waking up trying to remember who I’d lied to, or what I’d done the night before. There is profound freedom in truth. I never appreciated it then, but I sure do crave it now.
I am filled with fear. I’ve become jaded, pathetic and impatient. I relied on drugs to fix all my problems. I use them to feel better, or not feel anything, at all. Being emotionally flat-lined has its price. Every time I pick up, I lose another piece of me.
What scares me most, is I’m at the end of this thing. It seems there are only two choices I can make.
One: I will keep going the way I have been. If I choose this route, this will be our last talk. In order to continue using, I must block out all that is real and good. I’ll immerse myself in secrecy and madness. I will avoid my friends and family, and live in an ugly world of lies, dishonesty, justifications and self-pity. I’ll demean myself in the worst possible way. I will give up, on me.
Two: I will stop this insanity now. Right now! While I am lucid. I’ll flush my stash down the toilet and pick up the phone. I won’t call the dealer, I’ll call for help. I know my days are numbered. I walk a tight line of no return. If I pick up one more time, I may cross it.
If I choose option one, I will loathe myself and Dear God, I am close. Most days it feels like there’s not enough of me left, to win this fight.
If I choose option two, I don’t have to fight this, alone. There’s help for me, if I reach out.
Any sane person would wonder why this is such a difficult choice to make. But that’s the thing about addiction. It isn’t sane or rational. If by some chance I’m unable to make the decision I know I must, I hope somebody finds this letter and makes it for me.
Please know if I choose option one, I will not be acting under my own accord. Addiction will have me firmly in its grasp. I’ve tried to stop using in the past, but my illness is bigger than me. So far, it’s winning. I hope my loved ones will fight like hell, to get me back. I hear with professional help, and intervention, it can be done.
In closing, I’d like you to know that although I’ve called you a loser, you’re not. You can still beat this thing. Please pray for the courage to get help and make 2016, the best year of my life.
If you or someone you know needs help, please call this confidential support line for assistance. 1 888 614-2379.