Coming Out Of It
On the last day of my addiction
I just knew that was it for me,
And that the last time
Had been the very last time.
I was not afraid of finding out
If I was stronger than the cravings.
And never told a single soul
How it was to face it so defiantly.
I was no longer concerned
About how I appeared,
When standing down any surge
Trying to push me over that edge.
It took no more energy
Than making a good decision,
To free myself from its chokehold
That strangled my life.
Yes I had tried to stop
Countless times before this,
But this was the first time
That I wanted to clear my life of it.
To be totally rid of the fixation,
The weakness and betrayals,
And the long imposed
Mental fog that inhabited me.
I woke up knowing that day,
I’d never again desire whatever
Chemical satisfaction came from
These consequential things.
I’ve heard that once an addict
Then always an addict.
And I really did believe it
Until I lived another truth.
It did cross my mind a few times,
Not as a craving per say,
But wondering what else I missed
While under the influence.
There were so many things
Rusty or covered in years of dust,
That I only noticed that day
How much I wanted to get back to
It’s funny how coming out of it
Is as exhilarating as breaking
The surface gasping for air,
After being drowned by a bad habit.
And every refreshing breath,
Is renewing like what remains
When a testing interlude passes
Taking with it all the anxiety.
With absolutely no more
Battles with old compulsions,
That was clearly the last day
And the first time I felt that way.
There was no resistance,
Just making better choices
While old tendencies faded
In the process of doing so.