addiction
The realities of addition; the truth about living under, above and beyond the influence of drugs and alcohol.
The End of the Rainbow
Hands are the most revealing of all body parts: they might not leak with emotion, like one’s eyes; they might not melt into grey and fall with age, like one’s hair. In contrast, they are a reflection of every moment in one’s life, holding memories of dances and fights, affection and war, love and labour.
By Alfie Saunders5 years ago in Psyche
This Time, Four Days In
Vertigo. Stomach upset. Lightheadedness. And a feeling that I’m stuck in a “damned if I do, damned if I don’t” mode. I haven't “enjoyed” my usual nightly schooners of wine in four days. I decided that I want to take a break. Note, I didn’t say “quit,” as I only set myself up for failure when I make such pronouncements. I’m hoping some of you understand this.
By Sherry McGuinn5 years ago in Psyche
Against the Maple
Buffalo County sits thick in fog as my mother and I put the finishing touches on our faces. It’s too early for anyone to be doing their makeup. The kind of early that when the sun finally reaches and stretches into the sky, it reveals patches and crooked lines upon the face. But now, here in the dim light before dawn, Mom looks beautifully made up. Tired-but gorgeous. The skin under her arm hangs loose as she blots her red lipstick, weighed down by the day’s task.
By Ian Hardeman5 years ago in Psyche
Nights are Different in Hospitals
Nights are different in hospitals. It's quieter yet murmuring restlessly with a dry whispery voice all its own. Felt more than heard, the pain of the suffering, the comfort of pain relieved, the Souls transitioning that couldn't bear to leave with their families around. They instead depart quietly, holding the hands of family waiting for them, then almost running towards others in the misty distance. Joy
By Jimmie Sherrill5 years ago in Psyche
Run For It
The train jerked forward and I collapsed in my seat, fumbling the zipper on my jacket to make sure I still had it. The envelope. I squeezed my hands around the stack of bills inside, just to feel it was real. I wiped sweat from my forehead, shrugged out of my jacket, tucking the crisp white envelope under my leg. The only way to know it was real was to touch it, keep it close to my body. The train rocked the brick of money into my sore, tired leg.
By Melanie Alexander5 years ago in Psyche
Debts
My first day home after three years, and I already knew I was making a mistake. The girl was sitting out on the lawn when I pulled up. She wasn’t playing, just sitting there and staring down the street, so she was already looking at me when I turned the corner. All I could think was that I didn’t recognize her. I got out of the truck.
By Nicholas Moschetto5 years ago in Psyche
Short-Lived
“Abby! You’re going to be late for your own graduation!” Abigail’s mother yells from the island in the kitchen. Abigail tosses clothes from inside of her closet, rolling her eyes at her mother’s screeching. She grabs her cap and gown and throws the gown over her shoulder. She slides her feet into her flats and heads for the stairs.
By Michelle Santana5 years ago in Psyche
I Was An Addict
Addiction comes in many forms. Addiction also has many faces. I know this because I am an addict. I no longer active in my addiction. However once you lose all control and become addicted to something, no matter what it may be the truth is even once you stop this affliction you always have a great chance of returning to it. Or even picking up a new one. Many people who have never had to deal with being an addict or had one they cared about, will tell you that addicts are weak individuals. I don't believe that for one second. As an addict you are not weak, on the contrary most addicts are very strong individuals that unfortunately are trying to most of the time cover up and run from their pain. Whether it be mental, emotional, psychological, or physical pain. Pain comes in many forms and fashions. Just like addictions do.
By Carolyn Leonelli5 years ago in Psyche
Mr. Malpractice
My name is Daisy. I am a recovering heroin addict. I say recovering because, although it's been 7 years since I last stuck a needle in my arm, I don't think I'll ever live an entire day without thinking about the way it felt. Dreaming about that warmth spreading throughout my bloodstream and craving the way that for just a moment, everything went quiet.
By Sydney Severo5 years ago in Psyche
In black and white
“Starting a new chapter…” at least that’s what he thought. It had been almost eight years of non-stop distractions. Roman didn’t want to admit it, but he’d spent most of his twenties constantly staring down at his phone, looking at the clock and pacing back and forth. He’d barely seen the days fly by and here he was, turning thirty in a few days. He couldn’t see a clear path to sorting out his life and the sun had long since set on his tattered shoes. He realized the line between having things under control and completely losing it got blurry and yet he couldn’t seem to make it stop.
By Jessica Bertrand5 years ago in Psyche
