Today, I'm not a stagehand. I'm not a woman dealing with the "wrong" side of forty. I'm not a wise-ass blaming everything on Elliot or Hydro.
Today, I'm just a recovering addict who's heart is hurting for those who don't have a program and are dying from this disease. I'm seeing too many people I love suffering with this disease.
Addiction is a motherfucker. It kills. And I can't save these people. It doesn't matter how much I love them. I cannot save them. I hate that helpless feeling.
Recently, I've seen someone I loved relapse. Someone I sponsored went MIA. A friend found himself alone in a dingy motel room with one dirty needle. Someone else I love is probably strung out on methadone or heroine.
I get sick and tired of watching this disease kill people.
Raging at the unfairness of it all does me no good.
All I can do is turn them all over to god as I understand it, and hope they find their way home to NA.
Having done that, I am now left to remember that I, too, have this disease. I'm grateful I know how to treat it. I'm grateful I understand how fucked I am if I don't treat it. I'm grateful that I'm clean now, that I have a program. I'm grateful my program helps me live in the moment. It means that I can enjoy this quiet time with my little puppy, one of the last chances like this I'll get for a while, since school starts again on Monday.
Now, I'm going to go have myself a moment of silence for the addict who still suffers. Then I'm going to see if I can start a wrestling match with my puppy.
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