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Real Life Alcoholism Addiction Treatment Recovery Stories





Dancing with the devil – Tricia

Excuse me sir, but have you seen my brother?
Things have not been the same since we lost our mother.
It’s all so unfair and I just don’t understand
Why he keeps playing the same losing hand.
Our mother used to say in her all-knowing voice:
“If it is to be it is your choice.”
Whenever she said that I used to get mad,
I thought all I ever got was what I already had.
But now I know that just isn’t true- you get what you choose it’s really up to you.
Back to my brother, whom I love very much, it seems he’s been using drugs as a crutch.
It hurts so much to see him this way. I could not take any more so I went away. Now I wonder about him everyday. I hope and I pray he will find his way.
The last time I saw him, he was quite a sight. He did not even look like my brother but a creature of the night. Something sinister had taken over his mind, and you could clearly see
that he had lost his grip on reality,
Paranoia, fear and addiction were his newfound friends, delivered in a syringe of coke and heroin.
I thought his life was coming to an end.
In desperation I asked for help of anyone I knew.
The harder I tried to help, the greater his resentment grew. Leaving him alone to fight his demons was the hardest
yet only thing left to do.
My darkest days followed as I forced myself to let go.
I could not save him this I now know.
My brother is a man who knows what’s wrong and right.
He’s dancing with the devil late into the night.
Perhaps this is the way he wants to live, it’s not my place to say. I just think that somewhere along his journey he had lost his way.
There’s a universal belief that
a man’s destiny lies in the choices that he makes.
The daily struggle with what he leaves and what he takes.
Our mother is watching she’s been down this road too-
A daily struggle with temptation she all to well knew. She left her children with a birds eye view
of the loss and regret dancing with the devil gets you.
She always said it’s a choice
people do what they want to do.
The ones you hurt the most are the ones that love you.

Whispers Of A Land


I once heard a whisper deep down in the recess of my heart. I did not know if it was real or some created fantasy but when it spoke I knew it could not be denied. It was not a voice that came in from the ears, one that could be manipulated and ignored. But rather a significant yearning, a deep knowing, that I could be more than I am now…..

….. I shook my head and that brought me back, to one more hit another drink and no more pain. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and glanced out the window….
What was this voice whispering that I had to leave? Was it more painful than here? My mind started to race again, back and forth, anywhere… but away from here…..

….. But the whisper continued. It would not leave. It kept bringing me back, reminding me, beckoning me to remember. But I did not want to remember. To remember would put me right back to where I did not want to be, back to being real, back to life, back to the truth. Back to the memory of who I was and wanted to be. That land was too scary. I was fine where I was. Or, it was at least easier to believe I was fine than face where the whispers beckoned me to go….

…. One more drink, one more hit and I will be back to my place. The place where only I can go, the place where only I belong…confident and in control…. But that damn voice, that damn whisper… I wasn’t having fun anymore. I didn’t believe my stories anymore. I kept repeating them over and over, but it was no use. No matter what I tried, how many hits, how many beers, I could not find the reason anymore. Too many broken hearts and promises. I only saw destruction… and that damn voice…. Whispering to me of a land where I once walked free….

…. I saw it in other people’s eyes, that is I saw what the whispers told me. In fact it just felt good to be around. But not too long, the whispers were too powerful and true. I had to run, I had to hide, the fear would become overwhelming…

…. But I did see it. I wanted it. I’d been there. I know I have, for I remember how I walked, I remember every hill and valley. These whispers I saw in other people and felt inside my heart. This land with vast openness I was once free to roam. But how could I get there? How could I get past the fear? How could I stop to look at myself when all I ever wanted to do was run? ….

…… I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always scared. I was a good kid. In fact I am pretty caring even now. I do good deeds and go to church. But how long ago was it? How many years do I have to go back to remember them with innocence? Too many? No, too few. Does it matter how it started? ……….. Damn, those whispers again…. I need a hit, I need a beer……… But those whispers……….. I want them, I do I want them, ……….I want to see the sun rise and set. I want….. It just seems so far away ………… but so very close………… Shhhh…. Listen, maybe you can hear them……………..

I am Meshell-

choosing to hide(use)in my shell, all the while resenting where I dwell
perhaps the poem I spit
keeps me caught up in this shit
’cause I can never tell
if I create or am this hell
I cant claim I’m unique
to play dead when I am weak
and If I pound the wall of loneliness
without fear of what I’ll find
can I relax and reach another’s hand
or will the coward crawl back inside?

Meshell,

I hope this will help someone going through a similar experience to let them know that they are not alone. Thanks, Steve


“I had a close female friend call me in tears one night, as she had just broken up with her boyfriend. We talked for a long time, and I mentioned to her that things tend not to bother us as much during the day time, as we are busy and there is lots of stimulus to keep our minds on things other than personal problems, (Sometimes work, play, and other activities keep our minds off of our problems, but at night, when all has quieted down, we get a flood of thoughts and emotions, which were kept at bay during the daylight hours). Such was the case when she called me, and right after we hung up I wrote a poem about this phenomenon and called it, “In The Night,” which I submit to you for posting on your web site, as a poem.”

“In The Night”

by, Stephen J. Murray

[email protected]

In the night I have wept-

Emotions abound and have swept-

This ungodly hour of my pet-

She knows not how, how I have crept-

In the night it always seems-

The fabric my heart, it is reams-

When the sun no longer gleams-

My emotions come apart at the seams-

In the night my memories make-

Pools of disquietude in this lake-

That I lay awake-

And abate never comes to escape-

In the night there is no slack-

Again it begins with all that morbid flack-

It is here on my back-

On my back with a crack-

In the night, this is my threat-

That the busy in the day is gone to let-

Again that we have met-

And she is void of the feelings I get-

In the night years have gone by-

And I have not yet a heavy sigh-

I will never say goodbye-

Not until the day I die-

In the night with no refrain-

In the night-

In the night-

In the night

If you would like to contribute a poem, feel free to email me!


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