Today I went to a NA meeting for the first time in over a year. I went drunk and I went high. That is not uncommon, I hear. The folk there were kind, supportive, and understanding. They made me feel as if I wasn’t alone here. My dear friends have been supporting me as well, as they are in recovery, too. For the first time, today, I said with completely earnestly that I am an addict. It is a strange liberation to recognize one’s enslavement. I am enslaved. I am sick. I am tired. I am an addict. I am an addict. I am an addict.

Writing helps me to think, so here I am. I have another blog, and although addiction is a disease that one should not be ashamed of, I am ashamed. Maybe one day that will change.

Reading the Narcotics Anonymous text has revealed to me the games I have been playing. Before the meeting, all day, I was arguing with myself. “You don’t have a problem”, I’d say, “You’re being overly dramatic”– I must remind myself of this weekend, when I was confident in my ability to stay in my safe place with my safe friends and just one text, a split second, ┬áchanged that. I couldn’t stop myself, or I didn’t want to. I went, I used, I cried. I have a problem.

I am drunk, high, and tired. Sleep will evade me.

But here’s hoping.