Caricamento in corso...

Codependency

I’ve been surrounded by addicts my whole life.
I’ve been surrounded by them so long I sometimes wish I was one.
At least then I would only belong to myself and the drugs.
But instead I don’t even belong to myself, I belong to them and the drugs.
I’m a codependent.
I get all of the pain and none of the fun.
I don’t even get any support because I’m too busy supporting them.
And what’s the thanks I get?
I get screamed at and cried to, I get called a buzz kill and I get mocked for not being like them.
I get my shit broken, my money that I’ve worked for stolen.
We couldn’t buy toilet paper or shampoo but we sure did always have something to snort or something to shoot.
We didn’t have electricity or running water but at least we had a roof over our heads to do dope under.
My plans never work out, and the only plans they can make are surrounded around getting high.
I used to think that I was cursed by being all or none, black or white, high or sober, ecstatic or suicidal.
But now I’m starting to think that my curse is not extreme but mediocre.
Not all or none or black or white but middle and gray.
I’m too tainted to be normal but too good to be crazy.
And I wish I was bad.
But Jesus saved my soul as a child and no matter where I go or what I do I can never fully shake him.
And thieves are born not made.
So I’m stuck with menial labor because I can’t make myself steal, and I can’t make myself sell the same shit that ruined my life and those I love around me.
And you might have trouble reading my face but that’s natural and accidental, my poker face is rarely good when I try to use it on purpose.
And though I like to write I’m sad to say I’m not creative enough to be a good liar.
So without my addicts I’m left all alone.
But they are never there when I need them.
They’re either causing my overwhelming emotions or nowhere to be found when I’m having them.
They make a mess and leave me to clean it up.
They break me down and leave me with my broken pieces until they decide to grace me with their affection.
They leave me a crying, screaming, bleeding mess on the floor while they look down their nose at me.
Everything I just said is true down to the last detail but if you think I’m being general and you think you can stand to hear it I can be more specific.
My father, my sister, my aunt, my cousins, my best friend, and the only man I’ve ever loved.
They’ve left me with debt a totaled car physical scars and secrets I can’t tell anybody but God.
They’ve left me with a broken mind, memories that haunt me, an untrusting heart, and a jagged soul.
They’ve turned my whole world upside down and spun it around so I don’t know what’s up, what’s down, what’s wrong or what’s right, and what’s left is a broken windshield, a piercing rearview, and a mirror that lies.
I feel like damaged but defiant goods like a dog that’s been abused.
Yeah I’m a bad broken bitch,
but my bite is worse than my bark,
which is why I guess I’m left so long in the dark.
Loving an addict is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded and the wheels won’t stay on the tracks.
The highs are high above the clouds and you think you will never love anybody else the same
But the lowest lows leave you numb like when you find out that someone you love just died.
And trying to leave them is worse.
They become violent and the words they say downright degrading.
They blame, they beg, they scream, and they cry
Or if you’re like me, they’ll open a bottle and threaten to swallow thirty sleeping pills and you have to pry their mouth open and swear you’ll never leave them or else you could add someone dying to the list of everything that’s your fault.
Because everything is your fault in their eyes.
There’s a reason they’re called sick.
There’s a reason it’s called a disease.
But the disease kills the family before it kills the addict.
I don’t doubt that, my uncle is dead to prove it, had a massive heart attack, the coroner said his heart literally exploded inside his chest at fifty years old.
They literally broke his heart,
And I refuse any longer to let them break mine, I’d rather be alone.
And if you think that they’ll choose you over the drugs I feel sorry for you,
Maybe I’m just jaded,
But I’ve seen them choose drugs over their son and daughter, over their sister, over their wife.
Addiction next to greed is the devil’s right and left hand.

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