Being An Addict To A Drug Addict

Being An Addict To A Drug Addict

"Addiction is a family disease, one person may use, but the whole family suffers."

"Addiction is a family disease, one person may use, but the whole family suffers." This is a quote that I first read a couple months ago, and I thought to myself, "wow this is so true." This quote basically sums up what it's like to have a family member or close friend that does drugs. This is the outside cover of a book--it paints a picture that is very sad but has a tad bit of "everything isn't that extreme", but when you open the "book" and dig inside it, you discover the journey. You'll find all these situations, feelings, and voices of what really is going on with someone who is addicted to a drug addict.

Have you ever felt uncontrolled of your body? You felt like it had no power at all, like it is hooked on something 24/7? That is what I go through every single day, but that "something" is a person.

I'll explain a little better; I will take you through a morning of what goes on in the head of an addict to a drug addict:

You wake up and call that person to make sure they're up for work. You then start to think, is that person really at work? When is that person supposed to be home? What if they don't come home? What if they decide to escape and do more drugs today? Maybe I don't want that person to come home? Maybe it will be easier?

You replay what happened last time in your head (you start to cry). Should you call again to make sure they got to work alright? Where really is that person? They hate their job, you feel bad for them. You wish they could take off and sleep all day. How can you help them? You can't help them they won't let you. And then you get up and start your day where you cannot fall behind. You wish them the best as they destroy you. They don't deserve the best, but to you, that person is your world and what you revolve around. It's a constant worry for that person, 24/7. You're addict to that person because you love them but they created a monster out of you.

"Just talk to them," they say, like that's really going to fix the issue. Talking to an addict is like talking to a wall. It goes in one ear and out the other. How could anyone talk to someone that brings them pain and tears just by looking at them? You could sit them down every single day and have a talk but that person won't change unless they want to. You aren't able to express the things that you think about in your head because that constant worry comes back. You might build up the courage to say something but then in your head you begin to think, "What if I upset that person? What if after they go and do something stupid? How could I live with myself if that happens?" So you find other ways to support them without expressing your feelings.

You are addicted to the person that they will become. You try to help them by motivating them on their worst days and believing in them on their greatest days. You stop caring about yourself and your own life, and start obsessing over theirs. You push them to go out more with positive friends rather than staying in bed. You become blind to the lying, manipulating, and the stealing. All of this doesn't matter because your main focus is them and what their next move will be.

It's a constant game of waiting for them to slip up again and wondering what you will do next. You don't care about your future and the things you have to get done. It is always about them.

The feeling of being addicted to a drug addict is like needing a constant high. That "high" you look for and get is worrying about them, needing to know everything they are doing, and letting them take control of your body by their actions.

You become so addicted to them that you don't understand everything going around you. You begin to lose interest in everything that doesn't involve them. You don't go out anymore, you constantly sleep, you distant yourself from your friends and family, and you stop taking care of yourself.

It takes awhile to realize the boat you have been sinking in, but once you realize how controlled and addicted your body is, you realize it is time for you to change. There are so many support groups to help yourself and to help realize exactly what has taken over your life. You learn the proper way to handle loving a drug addict and how to manage taking care of yourself, while still loving and supporting them.

You soon begin to realize that the drug addict isn't the victim from drugs, but that you are in fact the victim.

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To The Parent Who Chose Addiction

Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.


When I was younger I resented you, I hated every ounce of you, and I used to question why God would give me a parent like you. Not now. Now I see the beauty and the blessings behind having an addict for a parent. If you're reading this, it isn't meant to hurt you, but rather to thank you.

Thank you for choosing your addiction over me.

Throughout my life, you have always chosen the addiction over my programs, my swim meets or even a simple movie night. You joke about it now or act as if I never questioned if you would wake up the next morning from your pill and alcohol-induced sleep, but I thank you for this. I thank you because I gained a relationship with God. The amount of time I spent praying for you strengthened our relationship in ways I could never explain.

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Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.

The amount of hurt and disappointment our family has gone through has brought us closer together. I have a relationship with Nanny and Pop that would never be as strong as it is today if you had been in the picture from day one. That in itself is a blessing.

Thank you for showing me how to love.

From your absence, I have learned how to love unconditionally. I want you to know that even though you weren't here, I love you most of all. No matter the amount of heartbreak, tears, and pain I've felt, you will always be my greatest love.

Thank you for making me strong.

Thank you for leaving and for showing me how to be independent. From you, I have learned that I do not need anyone else to prove to me that I am worthy of being loved. From you, I have learned that life is always hard, but you shouldn't give into the things that make you feel good for a short while, but should search for the real happiness in life.

Most of all, thank you for showing me how to turn my hurt into motivation.

I have learned that the cycle of addiction is not something that will continue into my life. You have hurt me more than anyone, but through that hurt, I have pushed myself to become the best version of myself.

Thank you for choosing the addiction over me because you've made me stronger, wiser, and loving than I ever could've been before.

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Batter Up

Because someone needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat a woman.


I have this memory from when I was younger,

I must have been six, maybe seven? An age

When you can remember, but not quite

Understand. I remember the landline

Ringing sometime in the middle

Of the night in my grandmother's small,

But adequate house. I had been sleeping,

Tucked under a shield of satin covers,

My grandmother next to me, blanketless,

And stiff, on the very edge of the queen mattress

Like she was anticipating some sort of disaster.

It wasn't the phone that pulled me from my sleep,

It was my grandmother's instant jerk, her eyes

Flipping open quicker than a light switch,

The mattress springing back up, adjusting

To the new lightness as she fled the room. My waking

Was soft like a song. Slow and humane.

My eyes adjusting to the dark, my ears absorbing the ringing,

My mind reminding itself that I was at my grandmother's house.

Then, the ringing stopped;

Abrupt, like a disarmed fire alarm.

It was just a drill, I thought.

But, then I heard the mumbling

From behind the door, panicked mumbling.

Rapid, like gunfire. My grandmother's Rs

Rolling down the hallway and under the door crack.

She only spoke Spanish when she was angry.

The call ended, my grandmother returned to the room,

Wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me into the night.

She buckled me into the backseat of her Toyota and said,

We were going to Auntie Mandy's house because someone

Needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat

A woman.

When we arrived at the house, we found the front door

Wide open, the house lights spilling out onto the porch.

A truck, I had seen once before, was parked a foot away

From the front door, aggressive. The truck had trampled

Over the dandelions and daisies, which lay wounded

In the front yard. A scene that begged for investigation.

My grandmother told me to stay put in my seat.

I watched as she walked to the back of the car, her normally pretty

Face turned straight, looked masculine. I watched as she pulled

Something wooden out of her trunk, then in her feline walk,

Approached the house. She turned to me, and I saw the

Baseball bat, immense in her female hands.

I slouched in my seat, the window above my head.

I never saw her go into the house.

I don't remember how long I sat,

Until the red and blue lights came.

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