I can resist going to the other side. I remember how men treated me when I was thin… When I stay stuck I don’t ever have to feel those feelings. ~ Jhe T

Our addictions begin as comfort,
as solace, as relief from the world,
as a marvelous discovery of the way,
seemingly the only way to relieve pain.
They grow into a tool, tried-and-true,
a habitual way of seeking that comfort
we once found. They they morph again
into a retreat, a hideaway, a denial,
an escape from life as we know it.
Finally they’re a prison we would leave
if we could, or so we tell ourselves.
Then along comes someone, some busybody,
someone in recovery and point to a bridge.
A way out. An escape. It’s what we’ve wanted,
what we desired above all else. But we look.
We see there’s no substance or action
that brings us comfort, that’s a tool
or a retreat, a prison. Life as we know it
isn’t there. It’s here. And we fear the bridge,
the way out, even more than we fear
living here in the prison we built.