It Ran So Deep, That It Cut Me In Two

HONESTY….

What is it? How do I define something I don’t even know what it means to me? How do I capture something that for so long I have run from? I portrayed this very image that I had it all together. That life was beautiful and amazing. That it could go on and on forever, me never getting tired of the smiling, the laughter, or the joy. All the while, I stay so sick on the inside. Sick of the lie that I was keeping up. Sick of the shell that I had become. Sick, just sick. Sick of it all. Honesty, what is it?

I had spent the better part of my life being an addict. And now I am starting to believe that I was an addict long before I ever pick up the first real drug. I was drowning in this life of addiction. For so long that I had spent living this lie, that I was okay!! For so long, it had gotten so bad that I covered that lie with marijuana, and I covered that lie with alcohol, and pills, and whatever I could get my hands on. I covered it and covered it up until it got to the point that the lie I was covering up became so unrecognizable, that I had started to fool myself into believing this was it. This was the truth. This is all that I ever could be or ever would be. That the lie wasn’t a lie, that it in fact was reality. Or, at least it was my reality. How did I even know anymore? How did I even get to that point? How did not a single person who supposedly cared about not even see the significant damage from the lie that I was fabricating? Why did they just not pull me back in? Why didn’t they help me? Or, was that just another facet of the lie that became my reality? Did they try to help? Did they try to pull me back? Or, was I just a stream engine on a roll maiden for self-destruction because the fabrication of my disease? The disease that I didn’t know I had or the one that I didn’t want to admit that I had? Honesty, what is it?

I sit here today as I type with three years clean. It was a sobering truth that I just had to give up. I couldn’t add value to something that didn’t value me at all. The life wasn’t for me know more. I was so tired. I was beyond exhausted. I hated everything around me. I hated my life. Even, at a time when I am the happiest on earth, I hated it. I could find a realization in my life because I had spent so long speaking the fabrication. There was no hope for me. There was no chance. No change. No speak easy function to fix this hell that my life had become. How could I be honest beyond that. This was what I had seen as the benefits of honesty. This was it. I wanted it over. I could not keep up with which way to go next. Which place to run. Which lie to tell. Which truth (as I knew it) to vocalize. I just didn’t know. I had become the stranger in my bed. The person who was naked and invisible was me. Everyone stood there. They were there I can’t deny that now as I look back at the lifeline before me. Oh, where they there. Yes, there was some who was ready to help out, to give me a hand and those are the ones that I took advantage of the most. There were some who there to watch me fall. My own band of haters who would rather see me die than reach out to help me. Then there where the some who where there to help me fall. They kept there hand out, but it was to help me up. It was to push me further and further down this rabbit hole of addiction. Those where the ones that I trusted. They were the ones that I believed in because I thought they got me, that they believed in me. That they loved me. But, they didn’t give a hoot darn about me. They could care less if I lived or if I died. They only cared about them. And that was it. They were never there to help me clean up this mess. In fact, they are not even around today to watch me survive. Something they claimed that I would never do. But only behind my back. They were never strong enough to tell me to my face, instead they just kept feeding my addiction unto the point of no return. They probably never lost an ounce of sleep. And, in fact, if you ask them they would say she is a grown woman that could make her own decisions. Honesty, what is it?

You know honesty has always been hard for me. I can’t authenticate a response that is more truthful, more real than that. I just always seem to find honesty hard for me. Not at the price of wanting to protect myself really. It was more that I wanted to protect others.I didn’t want to have to be the one that hurt anyone, I didn’t want to have to be the one who had to dismantle families because I didn’t want to hurt them. I would rather take on the pain, bury it deep within me, cover it up with a whole bunch of cow dung, make it up and own it as my narrative. All because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. That was the only way I knew. That was the only maturity level I had in my life at the time. And today as I sit here in front of this screen and think back, I am struggling. Struggling to really open up and see what is honest? What is real? And what is just a lie? I don’t know where this journey is taking me. I don’t know where I am going to end up, or what I am going to see along the way. All I know is that today I don’t desire to use ever again; don’t mean it isn’t possible that I could use because it always is but I know that it isn’t a current desire. And today I also know that I am powerless over people, places, things and situations. And, at this point in my life that is the only honesty I have. And, that is the honesty I value to the utmost in my life. So, until next time have a good ole glass of sweet tea with a slice of faith.

mwah,

DOK