Goodbye, Addiction.

Today I read this letter in my group. I am fucking exhausted. I am still feeling numb about the Narc situation. I can't eat much, but other than that I guess I'm okay.

Anyway, this letter was hard to read. Here it goes...

Dear Addiction,

I hate goodbye's. I wish I didn't have to say goodbye. But I know that this is what I have to do. I never thought I would be strong enough to say goodbye to you. And I'm scared. For a long time, I loved you. Sometimes, for brief moments, I think I still do. You are deceitful that way. It doesn't make any sense to me why I should love something so harmful to me. You sneak up on me now and remind me of the "good times." But I have to remember how you hurt me. Even though I thought I had things under control, my life was falling apart. I was scared then too-- scared of failure, scared of dying, scared of disappointing-- that people would find out our secret. So, now all I know is that this has to be goodbye. I can not have you in my life anymore. You are just too dangerous.

I've known you for my whole life. I watched you work your magic from afar when I was very young. I looked up to my dad. He was powerful. But you were even stronger than he was! You held him like a puppet on a string, transforming him from happy to angry, bringing him down from health to sickness. And I wondered about you-- dangerous and forbidden. I never understood why my dad became so frightening. You knew things about him that I couldn't. You took my dad away from me. And you took my faith in God. When I was a child, you were stronger than God. I was angry and scared and in awe of you. You were in control of my family. I was out of control. And I retreated in defeat, trusting no one, locked inside.

After that, I stayed away from you as much as I could. But you were always in my thoughts. I never drank in high school. I didn't want to go to parties to see you or even smell you. I held out for a long time. I felt different from everybody else. I tried so hard to be a "good girl." I wanted people to like me. I wanted to please my teachers. I wanted someone to see me. But I felt so trapped. I needed something to happen. I often thought about dying. And I started to hurt myself. I hated myself. And I was alone.

And then, one night, I decided I was tired of fending you off. I finally got up the nerve to invite you into my own life and into my body. I remember that first night as clear as day... how warm you were. You seemed, to me, a miracle. And somehow, I thought I might finally understand why my dad loved you more than he loved me... Why he was willing to die for you... Why he never said his own goodbye. You unlocked a door for me that night. You took what I had been-- trapped, unseen, unrecognized, muted-- and you set me free. I knew you were dangerous, but I didn't care. I was sick of playing it safe. And you made good on your word. You let me be all of the things that I never dared to be before. I finally felt natural and free. I thought you showed me how to be me.

I made you an integral part of my life immediately. Within a month I was binge drinking and blacking out on a regular basis. But you did so much for me. It was easy to make friends with you around. I thought people liked me better with you. I could say whatever was on my mind and for once stop worrying about everyone else's feelings. I knew that my freedom came at a price. I knew you were hurting me from the start. But I didn't care. You told me that it was okay to hurt myself-- to be an alcoholic. I hated myself and I romanticized you. Often times, you and I would stay up late hours, pacing the cold city streets, furiously scribbling in my journal. With you by my side, I felt like a poet.

And for me, you became inextricably linked to sex, drama, pain and passion. Where were those things in my life before you? "Nowhere," you told me. I had been numb. You convinced me that you gave my life motion and connection. You became my obsession. Only now do I realize that it was you who made me numb.

I've always felt so vulnerable, so scared. But not so with you. With you I felt strong. With you I felt worldly. You tricked me into believing that I was in control. And I never questioned the fact that in spite of your company, underneath it all, I still felt desperately alone.

For a long time, I ignored your flaws... or I glorified them and reveled in them. You were eroding me, but somehow I still managed to get things done, so you convinced me that I was okay. Even with you by my side, I graduated from college, got a great first job, moved in with a boyfriend, taught high school at age 22, got a full scholarship and did my MA in a year, started my PhD and was teaching college at age 25. Yes, you had me convinced I was in control. We had a rocky start, but I learned to keep you in line, didn't I?

You tricked me into forgetting how powerful you are. I knew you were a killer, but I forgot what that meant. Or you told me not to care. As time went on, you got worse. You seized me, starting to destroy my life in more concrete ways. You were with me at every moment, whispering in my ear. I trusted you, but you gave me the worst advice. You drove me to promiscuity, danger and shame. You made me believe I was not good enough without you. You introduced me to men who drank and drugged-- violent, witholding or rejecting men. You took away my pride in my education. You made me lie and manipulate my friends and family. You made me betray my friends, family and myself. You made me disappoint everyone. I started to think I needed you in order to sleep. Other nights, you wouldn't let me let me sleep. You took my energy, my passion for life, for school. You drove me to forget about history, art and music and neglect my responsibilities. You wanted me all to yourself. You convinced me I had no options. "Stick with me," You said. "It's either that or going back to feeling trapped, to cutting, to suicidal thoughts. Stick with me or you'll be too shy to meet men, too insecure to trust or to have sex." I believed you. I had two options-- you or going back to feeling trapped.

Even so, I always tried to remember my dad and what happened to him. But whenever I felt guilty for being an alcoholic, you were there in my ear. "He loved me too," you said. "Now you are closer to him. Now you can understand him. It was impossible for him to leave me. It will be impossible for you." I listened to you and really believed you brought me closer to him.

For me, you mixed love, passion, and drama with pain, fear and damage. You put me on a roller coaster in destructive relationships. I lost myself. The blackouts were always there. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. You have spun me around so many times that I can honestly say I have no fucking clue who I am or how to be. Love became confused with pain. Pleasure came at the price of a loss of self respect.

You've been with me for all of my life, addiction. But it's time for you to go. I am terrified of life without you. I am afraid of the loneliness that you promise me will come. So I need to be strong now and have faith-- faith in that sense of God that so long ago you convinced me to abandon.

I feel a life inside of me-- a future waiting to be born. You have no place in that life and I refuse to let you take that future.

Yes, I will miss you. And yes, I am terrified of life without you. But I am ready to say good bye. I want to grow up and I want to be me. With you around, I'll never know who that is.

So, farewell addiction. I'll never forget you. But I never, ever want to see you again.

Love,

Hyde