some pain

As an addict, you become intimately acquainted with pain. From an outside perspective, it is a shallow, ego-centric pain. It is anguish that, unless you have experience with addiction firsthand, you would probably be hard-pressed to grasp. This is ok: it’s understandable you don’t understand. When you see an active addict, it is only natural to see the surface. You see a thief and a liar. You see an unconscionable being taking advantage of everyone and everything he can to get what he believes he needs. You see someone who has robbed you of your love, thrown it to the ground, smashed it into the dirt, and spit on it. You see a being who, try as you might, try as hard as you might, you yourself cannot make better. This is the surface.

But please remember, he knows pain. He knew pain before he started abusing substances. More often than not, the drugs, the alcohol, these were put into use to try and cope with that pain. It starts when he is young. The pain forms like a tiny seedling in his heart, in his mind and, for want of a better analogy, it blooms and grows inside him like a cancer. The seed of pain does not thrive on water and a brilliant sun. It feeds on the discomfort he feels when he wakes in the morning. It feeds on an aching self-awareness that he is different—not in a good way—and on a cosmic fear that he is nothing, he is no one. There are times when all he has to do is breathe, and it blossoms with every fetal position he takes, or every time he pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them and asks between tears, “What is wrong with me?” Even when his own voice does not ask this, the multitude of other voices in his mind plague him with the question relentlessly, among many, many more, that are screamed at him incessantly without reprieve.

It may appear to be a superficial pain, because it is not the same pain like that of a loved one passing to the next realm, or the pain of poverty or those in third-world countries, but it is not to be discounted. He knows pain.

But then, there is drug. There is alcohol. And there is passing respite from the pain, at last. It is passing, because while the break may seem to be a potent, powerful healer, it is fleeting, and whether it takes a short while or years, decades, the pain comes back. And it comes back with a fully-stocked artillery. Our boy (because that’s what he is (despite him being the physicality of a man, inside he is still a boy)), now knows the pain of solitude more profound than any he may have thought he knew before.

However, you see him get high, and you don’t believe for a second he is not enjoying himself. You see him stealing from your purse, your wallet, your business, your children. You see him lying to you, and manipulating you for his gain, so he can get high. You see him stabbing you with a knife, so deeply in your chest; you think for sure you aren’t going to survive this one. You see him not accepting how much you are trying to love him sober.

Know, though, he is feeling pain. He is lying on the grass, looking towards the sky, and wondering where God is, and why He won’t just let him die. He is fetal again, with his hand on his chest, wondering why he can’t feel his heart anymore. He is crying, because he had to steal from your purse again, and your wallet, and take things from your store to pawn. He is crying, because he had to sell his very body. He is crying, because he wants so hard to let you love him sober.

And then occasionally, there is a miracle (because it is most certainly nothing less than a miracle), and our boy makes it into recovery, and he is sober. Not only is he sober, but his life is being rebuilt, more wondrous than ever before. There are burnt bridges mending themselves, there is trust gained when nobody thought there could ever be trust again. There are good, wonderful things happening.

But while the pain of active addiction subsides, the pain that was numbed for so long threatens to creep into this life again. He does what he must to keep it at bay, and for the most part, he is successful. He knows that the path he is on must be tread carefully. He is relearning how to do everything. He is opening himself up and putting himself out there as he has never done before. And because of this, he is wounded all too easily. 

Words (or the lack of words) and actions (or the lack of actions) are like missiles to his heart. Pain he believed could only happen to him while he was using, attacks him on a sunny day when he is over a year sober. He will make it, best believe. But please, be careful with him. Take caution how you handle him and treat him.

He is me.

CaS o5.11.16