Maniac (Poem)

How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?

It’s like I’m lost in space
And I can’t go home

The further I drift
The hotter I burn

The colder it gets
The more I yearn

For something less painful than the stake in my back

I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself

Step One: What addiction looks like for me (Twelve Steps)

As I have descended into the pit of physical, spiritual, mental and emotional decay, my life has become unmanageable. I find myself obsessing over people, places and things that have no direct impact on my current situation; my past, everything I lost, the news, how stupid I think everyone is, how much I hate honkeys.

Such mindless obsessions lead to compulsive behaviors; pacing, biting my nails, trips to the fridge, smoking cigarettes. By the end of the day I feel exhausted from the wreckage in my brain and just want to drink myself to sleep.

I am completely oblivious to the impact my actions have on those around me. It’s like I’m in my own self-imposed prison and I am the judge, jury and executioner whose consequences pertain to myself alone. I am inconsiderate of the fact that there are teenagers in the house who look up to me and take ques from my actions. I don’t care that my children are somewhere out there possibly concerned about me. I extinguish any flicker of hope in becoming a leader in the revolution by beligerently belting out whatever drunken tweet I can manage to produce while in total blackout.

My disease has thrown me into physical, mental, emotional and spiritual ruin. I am physically drained to the point where I don’t want to get out of bed most days. My mental exhaustion causes me to contimplate suicide regularly. I am emotionally distraught and completely powerless over depression. And I am spiritually incapable of summoning the will to carry on and build a new life founded on serenity.

Mother Dearest (Journal Entry)

I hate my reflection. A daily reminder of the fool I came to be. Every imperfection, every self-inflicted scar. Every time I look into those sullen eyes it’s like the record hits play on every memory I wish I could forget.

When I was younger I had so many dreams, so much hope for a beautiful life. The one thing I lacked is what drove me into hell. 

Id, Ego & Superego (Journal Entry)

Here I go again. My id got the best of me. I run from my life til I can’t get away then it’s back to the same old drunken charade. I don’t know how I got here. Or at least that’s what I like to say. I know exactly how I got here. My I can’t admit my blame.