The Search: Recovering

by Marion G. Freeman

I strolled through this life, seeking fun and love and being thrilled at making memories and the fascination of new discovery— no matter what form it might take.

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Addiction drifted over the grass, through the dark leaves of the trees, rode the wind…as it has for centuries, haunting.

It was searching for souls to feed upon-- it cared not “who” you were...male or female, rich or poor, educated or not, timid or confident, downtrodden or well-to-do, white or black-- it was and has always been an equal opportunity devourer.

It is a present (and oh so patient) darkness perched in wait.

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Suddenly an abrupt, deep rumble intruded on my being.

“I have been here a long time,” Addiction said to me. “And I am still here. What are YOU doing here?”

Pondering deeply, I had no answer.

“Surely you know I OWN YOU,” it said, “You cannot possibly think you have the slightest right to ANY of the grace and beauty of this world. How preposterous you even think that you should.”

“Who is it that you seek? HOW DARE YOU look for another but me.”

“Who do you think you are?”

In truth I did not know myself even, so again I had no answer.

I thought I was many things:

an artist (“thief!” echoed in my head);

a musician (“imposter”);

a creative (“you are nothing but a destroyer!”);

a DECENT guy (“ADDICT, ADDICT, ADDICT!”).

Which of these were projections of my true self; which were merely masks?

I have only glimpses of an answer.

AND SO…I search.

(written roughly in November 2011, attending a recovery treatment facility)