Letter from an Addict

Dear Community,

Let’s be honest. You know I’m an addict. So let’s really keep it one hundred: Being an addict sucks. Literally every day of my life is a bargaining act with pain. Some days it’s physical pain. Torture. The shakes, the sweats, wanting to rip your own skin off just to give your mind some relief. Other days it’s worse than that. It’s crippling emotional pain. Feeling shame so deep that you eat away any semblance of yourself until all that’s left is a hollowed out shell of regret.

I’ve lied to you, cheated you, stolen from you. I’ve left my family and friends hanging on empty promises I wasn’t strong enough to fulfill. I have looked at my best friend and wished with every fiber of my being that we could switch places. Just for one minute, so I could remember what it feels like to want to open your eyes in the morning. I have hated myself so deeply that I didn’t think I deserved the chance to prove myself wrong. And honey, I know you have felt that too. Hell, some of you have sat at a bathroom floor watching someone you love disappear behind that same locked door, and you can’t fucking do anything about it.

Want to know something else? Truth: I didn’t start using drugs because I wanted to kill myself. I started using because life was hurting me and I didn’t know how to make it stop screaming. Drugs might make a lot of noise but being quiet is way worse. Nobody rewards you for getting through traumatic childhood experiences or battling depression or anxiety or just being so fucking fragile that the world makes you break. I needed something. So yeah, I used drugs. They worked for a while.

I’m not writing this for your sympathy. Believe me, I hate myself just as much as you. But what I don’t hate is that I’m still here. Some days I wake up and think getting out of bed is a miracle. But every little victory counts. Whether that’s lasting one more second through a craving or saying “no” one more time than you said yes. Even when you fall―and trust me, you will fall―learn how to pick yourself back up.

Addiction recovery is messy as hell. It’s not going to look pretty for you Instagram story. It’s ugly crying in the shower because your muscles remember what you used to do instead of going to meetings. It’s white knuckling through another meeting, trembling from head to toe. It’s sending your sponsor a text at midnight because you need to hear someone tell you that you’re not a lost cause. It’s failing over and over and over until failing becomes second nature. Then you learn how to get back up again.

My thing is this: don’t look away. Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t condemn me for the mistakes I’ve made while drowning. If you’re struggling along with me―if you’re out there fighting for your life with every numb morning―know that I see you. I love you. You are not alone. I’m you.

And if you’re not fighting? If you’re just sitting back watching someone you love waste away piece by piece; don’t give up on them. Your loved one is still in there. That addict is just what they wear to survive the world we live in.

Truth: I’m not proud of a lot of the choices I’ve made. But I am damn proud of the fact that I’m still here. That I fight every single day to claw my way back from that darkness. And if you’re still breathing you have a fighting chance. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.

Fuck shame. Fuck pretending like we’re better than this. We aren’t perfect; we just survive. And that’s enough.

“One day at a time. Some days, one minute at a time.”

-jagged love