Addiction

Strong and powerful women. My mother drilled that saying into me like a sergeant training his soldiers to fight. They made me feel tough. I was a bear that could- if it only chose- rip apart the entire forest. The words were magic, a spell of sorceress control. I could do anything. Why? Because I was a strong and powerful woman.

Believing the words made them true, but saying the words didn’t. On and on my mother repeated the line, like Moses and the Ten Commandments. It was her mantra. Her prayer. Her salvation. Even a five-year-old could see how desperately she needed to think that she was in control. I watched her strength crumble over and over, and felt betrayed. I resented the words, then. They were false. Misleading. A lie.

If only she had believed in her own command. Maybe then she could have beaten it. Maybe then she would still be alive.

My mother didn’t just bestow me with a silly saying. Along with the blue eyes and stubborn temper, I also inherited her disease. I’m not talking about cancer or tuberculosis, either. Sometimes I think those would have been preferable. No, my mother had an addiction. Addiction tainted her body like oil in the sea. Addiction clawed at her mind and organs like a dragon with a never-ending appetite for pain. As a child I couldn’t understand why she was so weak, why she couldn’t just stop. Now, I understand all too well.

It’s so innocent, at first. Tap, tap, tap. The voice knocks gently on my mind. The touch is soft, reassuring. Sometimes I give in right there. Usually though, I try to resist.

Pound, pound, pound. No matter how hard I fight, the call gets louder. It beats on my bones, pushing me into submission. When it’s over I cry and swear never to do it again, but the voice just laughs. ‘You know better than that,’ it jeers. The addiction is a part of me now, like a vital organ. It’d be easier to live without my lungs than my drug of choice. It’s grown to something even larger than myself. The addiction has all control; I am helpless under its sway.

Waste. I’ve thrown away years under the influence. If I spent as much time studying as I did squandering with my addiction, I’d be the smartest person on the planet.

Regret. The things that I’ve done will haunt me forever. I nearly accidentally killed myself like my mom, spent three months in two different hospitals restoring my health, got in trouble with the law, but the worst is what I’ve done to the people closest to me. I’ve ruined relationships with friends, lovers, and even family.

Why did I start? The usual reasons, I suppose. There’s nothing unusual about addictions, after all. Depression and low self-esteem make us do silly things. Escaping the pain of inadequacy was a relief. The sense of control was liberating. But then the control started to control me.

Why don’t I stop? Do you think I haven’t tried? I’ve done counseling, medicine, supplements, hospitalization, treatment centers, other drugs, meditation, reiki, deeksha, Brightbalk, spells, sweats, essential oils, electroshock, (just kidding,) and screaming stupid phrases like ‘I’m a strong and powerful woman’ all for the sake of recovery.

They’ve helped a bit. If you met me last year, you wouldn’t recognize me now. I weighed 80 pounds then, was constantly moving, and desperately wanted to be someone else. I was weak. Tainted. A disease. I hated myself for being so pathetic, but the anger fueled the disease even further. Now that I’m closer to accepting my strengths and weaknesses including my addiction, I’m closer to being in control. After I got out of the hospital, I thought I was 1000% recovered. (Hyperbole) I was wrong. Wrong was I. The voice will always knock on my mind. I will always be an addict. The important thing is for me to control it, and not the other way around. My addiction is one of my defining traits, but doesn’t define me. Kind of like Cindy Crawford’s beauty mark. I am more than an addict, and she is more than a lady with a mole.

I’ve met others all over the world with the same problem, including Stevens Point. They don’t have boils or demon ears. They look like regular human beings. They are regular human beings.

It would be senseless to blame my mom for this addiction. If I don’t accept responsibility for my actions, how can I change them? By following her hard-earned lesson and being a strong and powerful woman, I will recover.