I can’t help myself, but I really like your writing, it’s raw, undiluted, authentic and masterfully articulate. This is your calling and this situation that you are in is the vehicle that has brought this slumbering genie out of it’s bottle. When all this is over you will be on the New York Times Best Sellers list. SAVE EVERYTHING that you are writing and write a lot, on napkins, matchbooks, whatever you can get your hands on when you are inspired. You inspire me! I know that this is not what this is all about for you right now, but I can see from a place that you cannot. Your pain and journey must be told on a greater venue, others must know for themselves, through your writing the horrors of opiate addictions. And you spoke true sister, it is in fact a demon straight from the pits of hell. May the power of the Risen Christ be with you and made manifest you your hearts. In Jesus Mighty name. Amen.

Real Life

It has been lurking in the shadows for the past two weeks. Observing my husband, waiting, seething, weak, sick. Today it reappeared, in half form, ready for war. In the beginning my husband was too sick to consider using. Too sick to even try. The end of this week, as some of the physical symptoms subsided, the emotional symptoms worsened; the depression, the restlessness, the anxiety. While we may categorize these symptoms as emotional or psychological, anyone who has observed or suffered through these knows the physical toll. I watch over him, vigilant, and bear witness to the unrelenting, gnawing suffering: crawling out of his skin, deep icy pain in his eyes, bone chilling discomfort, thrashing body, goose bumps raised on the skin, heavy fatigue, pacing legs driven by insolent restlessness, knotted muscles, interminable insomnia, medicated mis-sleep, and chattering teeth. This is physical, at its core the physiological result of…

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