So, we tried to cope on our own and we fell into some bad habits. We self-medicated with drugs and alcohol, so now we're labeled an addict. We can't go without them, we need them to feel okay. Meanwhile, our underlying condition gets worse and worse each day. Recovery seems so far away for us, it seems thousands of miles in the distance. It's easy to think that we'll never get better, just stay put, miserable in our existence. It's even easier to stay in our comfort zone, always hitting the self-destruct. We set our lives on fire and then sit back to watch it erupt. We don't think we're deserving of love, not from ourselves, nor others. And so we hide from our friends and family, refusing to show our true colors. We're disordered, my friend, and so we do things that make no sense. Killing ourselves with an addiction just to feel better at our own expense. But do drugs and alcohol really make us feel better? Or do they just bury how we really feel? Aren't we all just running from our demons, pretending like none of our problems are real? But that never works, does it? They're always waiting for us just around the corner. But all we care is feeling relief in the moment, and that's all part of the disorder. We are not in control of our addiction, we're meerly a passenger along for the ride. Refusing to acknowledge the real reason we use, and what's going on inside. Let's ask ourselves is the addicton really worth it? All the pain and despair? If we awake from our addiction, who knows what will be out there?
