My addiction is brutal. Fatal also. The stress has driven me into this sort of behavior. I wish I could get out. I hurt everyone and everything around me. The broken glass and puddles of this sick drug on the ground make me feel sick of this life and everything about it.
My wife looks miserable as she sits with her legs pulled close, rocking herself as if she has gone completely insane. I want to stop, but the bottle seems to see my hand as a comfortable cup holder, and usually finds its way back to it’s not wanted but very welcomed home.
Rehab is just a break away from this for me. I can never stay clean for over a week after the days and nights I spend at the rehabilitation center.
If all the stress would go away maybe things would be different, but my money problems will never cease because this horrible want for this terrible thing will continue to burn a hole in the pocket in which credit cards and plentiful hundreds used to lie. I will never change. I am an alcoholic.
The 360 West Project 