Lover not a Fighter

I usually say that, the first time I used Meth, I was addicted. That’s not true. The first time I used, I knew, I’d do it again. I wasn’t addicted though. I became an addict, when I used to forget, my problems, my pain, my anguish. I became an addict, when I gave my addiction priority, over the important things, in my life. I became an addict, when I lost almost everything I had, stopped using for a while, then picked up again. Thinking, “It’s been long enough. I’ll be able to stop this time. I don’t have a problem. I was just in a bad place, at that time in my life.” I became an addict, when the strength, of my addiction, out weighed the shame I felt, when I looked at pictures of my kids. At problems, my addiction has caused. At people, who I have hurt. At what I could have done, with my time. My money. My family. . . I became an addict, when I looked in the mirror, asked myself to stop. Then put the piece to my lips, took another hit, and left myself behind…

— Rabia of Basra, tr. by Daniel Ladinsky from “Music; It Acts Like Love,”