Frontiers Addiction Recovery
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Addiction Poems & Writings
Addiction poems - alcohol addiction poems - drug addiction poems
The following are some addiction poems, addiction writing and addiction journals that those who were struggling to find there way through the whole drug alcohol addiction scene wrote to help them gain strength and insight into there pain. Journaling, writing and poems can be powerful ways for someone struggling with an addiction to to realize were they are at and where they want to go.
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Here I Stand At The Crossroads
By the grace of God will I remain sober for the next four years The relentless pursuit of relief, escape and excitement through the use of chemicals has imprisoned me in a circular existence of fear, anxiety and discontentment, with brief moments of satiation. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
An act of obsessive compulsion, waking most mornings with a heavy sigh and a curse on my lips. The machinery of my drug-addled body relying solely on the good grace of my heart, the last vestige of hope in a hopeless cause, pumping lukewarm blood into cold steel corridors of self-loathing and fear. The stubborn fury of my intellect too scared to face a lifetime of pent up emotion, but bold enough to venture places no sane man would ever go I was ambivalent to life.
Too afraid to live, but fearful of the unknown - the great beyond I numbed myself into behaviors that could lead me into the perceived abyss.
I almost succeeded. I lay in a coma for a week On this side, it was a son with tubes coming out of every orifice, a mother crying by his hospital bed clinging to any movement or sign of life. Said the nurses, "Ma’am, he's not coming back Let him go."
On my side, it was feverish nightmares, being wrapped in steaming hot towels in the dirty bathroom of a Chinese restaurant. My dreams were frustrated entanglements. Trying to get somewhere I could not go. It was not yet my time.
My family was awestruck the morning I woke up, yanked out the ventilator and screamed F*#*! After the fog lifted, I began to pray again.
Every fiber of my being pulsed with an energy I have never known. I learned to walk again. Nights of feverish sweating and hallucinations faded as my brain began to heal.
My life thereafter became a roller coaster of emotions, temptations, and discontent, interupted by moments of clarity where I fell dumb struck in joyful tears. |
Feeling completely connected with every one and everything, and knowing my life had purpose and knowing that purpose was love. I believe that love binds the very fabric of space and time. I tried to desperately hold on to these moments, but I found myself slipping back into old behaviors; self-pity and discontentment My mind is and always has been a battleground.
But, it has become completely clear to me just who is pulling the threads that tempt. Just who is behind the tiny voice that eases the silken blindfold over my eyes, concealing the truth and commandeering my thoughts and actions into depravity. I have seen the dark specter in my dreams. Sickness is evil. The evil are sick. Evil has a throne in this world, and the disease of chemical dependency is one of its infective vehicles.
It is not to say that those who die never reaching recovery arc doomed; for they have sacrificed so that others may live and prosper. Evil's greatest frustration and God's most mysterious weapon is taking the bad and turning It into something good.
"It is said that the greatest sinners make the greatest lovers." Better put, the recovered sick become the most healthy.
So, here I stand at the crossroads, and with the help and connection of love of a community of followers united under one common purpose, and millions strong ,will be the key to my freedom from the obsession to alter or input external things in my life in order to make me feel internally content.
Four years from now, if I persistently do the next right thing, I believe the possibilities are limitless. I could be a writer, a teacher, a lawyer, a priest.
All I know is I will have a serenity and peace of mind that will illuminate my life and allow me to help others.
The feeling of love and connectedness I have felt will become perpetual so that I will out-distance my wildest dreams; and look back one day and realize that the hardest times in my life were the most important.
~ Todd 2006
Addiction poems & writings |
Addiction poems|alcohol addiction poems|drug addiction poems|poems on addiction
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Hello,
First off I'd like to say I'd rather remain anonymous. I am -- years old and have been raised with an alcoholic mother which I am still living in, Just -- months ago my best friend died of the nasty disease of addiction! I am active in Al-non and ACA (adult children of alcoholics). When i was 17-ish i wrote a poem about alcoholism†in my standpoint of what the alcoholic is thinking, †I†wanted to share it as i just recovered it!
"The cycle of an alcoholic"
That first swig, it tastes so good,
To have another, maybe†you†shouldn't or maybe†you should,
It relieves†you of all†reality and bad feelings inside,
All other resorts†you have tried.
The best thing to do is run and get another beer,
Give a little change to the atmosphere.
The next thing you know,†your lying in the street,
Everything becomes blurry,†you can barely see†your own feet.
you†feel sick to†your stomach,†your body is in pain,
As†you have been out all night, sleeping in the rain.
Yet with all the money that†you earn,
another beer†you must yearn.
you†start in the morning, and keep drinking through the nights,
with the people†you love,†you cause arguments and fights.
It becomes a neverending cycle, you dont know what to do,
Your mind wants to stop, yet your body wont let you.
Then one day it gets to your head,
Your not sure if tomorrow, youll be alive or dead.
So that day you stop drinking and help you seek.
Then a month later comes another stressful week.
(back to beginning)
Thanks for letting me share
~Me, A struggling child of an alcoholic.
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Addiction Poems|Alcohol Addiction Poems|Drug Addiction Poems
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,
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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…
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Addiction poems|alcohol addiction poems|drug addiction poems
If you would like to add an addiction writing or addiction poem. Email me!
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.
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
nicdsteve@cox.net
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
For more help or information you can email me or call 888-691-3919. The below addiction workbook is an excellent help and guide for those who struggle with an alcohol or drug addiction. Keep believing! Tim
The "Forgotten Five Steps" Workbook
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