Good morning.
I hope and trust that this find our spirits at a good time and that my letter serves a purpose for you.
I was up again, last night. Of course, this is nothing new for me or for you.
But such are battles we face.
I was told about the idea that perhaps I should surrender to win. I was told that if I surrender, then I can come to terms with the way things are instead of fighting with them which makes sense.
Then again, you know me.
Who would I be if you and I didn’t fight or argue?
Who would we be if not who we are to each other?
And this above anything else is interesting to me. I say this because you more than anyone should know that out of anything in my life, all I want to do is be at peace with you.
But this is not peace and you and I are often far from peaceful.
All I want is to find peace or to be “okay.”
I want to find balance, if there is such a thing. But again, I digress too much and I run off in tangents because my thoughts can run wild. My thoughts can unravel too, and fray, like an unkempt bird’s nest that’s neither pretty nor attractive to any of the birds known to mankind.
And yet it is
And yet I am
alive and missing in the same place where I have been for decades.
But again, you and I have been through this more times than the sun has gone up and down.
I do not think that either if us want the bloodshed or the violence that hurts the innocent bystanders. They have nothing to do with these wars; yet, they suffer for them, nonetheless.
And yet we are who we are to each other.
This is why I ask the question, who would we be without one another?
Or who would we be if we managed to figure things out.
Who would I be without someone to contest me?
Who would I be without you and my war-room thoughts about how to survive or how to use force or how to maintain and survive?
Had it not been for you, then how would I know when I was in danger? Or had you never smiled at me, how would I know the difference between pleasure and guilt and beauty and sin?
I have cravings. I have urges.
Of course, I do.
I have tastes and flavors that I enjoy, which only you know about.
I have dreams.
I have desires that cannot be duplicated nor can anything in my dream be replicated or equaled by any man on Earth.
I have this thing in me. This is like a beast or a hunter, hungry as ever, and always starving for more.
I am a carnivore. A meat eater.
I get that.
At the same time, I want the peace and ease and the feeling of home; whereas, I want to feel the pride of ownership and be the king to my queen.
I do . . .
I have a thirst for you, which is unstoppable and unquenchable and yet, I am not who I used to be.
My body does not keep up with the urges and desires. But ah, my mind is always moving and my heart is always thumping for the sensational ideas that ease the pain in me.
And she?
She is the music that soothes this savage beast.
And yes, I admit to my savage rage.
I admit to the demons in me. I admit to my past and the derelict life that I previously subscribed to.
I confess again because I have confessed before.
However, same as it goes in the confessional then so it goes with any apology.
One cannot be absolved or forgiven without true sorrow for their crimes or their sins.
And sometimes, I’m not sorry.
And often, I have that old demon lurking in my thoughts.
And more often, I react and I go to an old default setting, which does nothing more than destroy and create more of the same.
You know him well. He is the Lucifer in my soul before being approached and cast down by Saint Michael, The Archangel, who approached the fallen Son of Dawn and said, “Who is like God?”
Lucifer was the most angelic and beautiful creation and yet, he was cast down to match the roots of his ugliness.
I think this way about myself at times.
I think about my version of beauty and how my definitions need to be updated and mature.
It would be inaccurate to say “I feel this way,” when talking about my demons because this is not a feeling.
No, these are thoughts that stem from decades of resentment and trauma-based thinking, and the aftermath of human errors, thinking errors, and faithless doubts that caused me to defy the world.
These are the results of my poorest decisions, which were made hastily and irrationally, due to lies and deceit and and the past, which is no longer present for me.
I own my faults and my sins.
There are mine and this is me
We are good at keeping old things alive. Aren’t we?
We are good at keeping ourselves sick.
We are excellent at keeping the fights alive and stoking the fires that brighten our torches enough to keep the wars going.
But why?
Why fight?
Why not let bygones be bygones?
And the truth is I know the answer to this.
The truth is I know why we fail to let things go.
Or at least, I know why I do
I am afraid of them happening again.
This is one fear but at the same time, my fears keep me stuck in the patterns of “More of the same.”
I know why I fail to let go.
This is because we need a reason.
We need to understand.
But more, we need a reason with substance. We need something we can hold on to and something that resolves the unresolved tension because so long as our thoughts repeat and our feelings linger; the wounds reopen and fail to heal.
Hence, this is why I was told to surrender to win.
I was told that acceptance is key.
Let me heal, I say.
But enemies live us when we are weak.
Don’t they?
I was told to pray for serenity to accept the things I cannot change and to ask for the courage to change the things I can. And lastly, or more to the genius of this idea; I was told to ask and pray for the wisdom to know the difference.
Of course, this is a work in progress.
What an idea . . .
What a trick . . .
What ignorance I have that prevents me from letting go when in fact; this is only a brat-attack.
This is a tantrum, held by me as a grown man and yet, I act like a child or an inconsolable two-year-old whose diaper is wet and my belly is empty.
I know why we cry.
Or should I say that I know why I cry.
I know that pain is the leading cause.
But pain comes in countless forms.
I know that frustration leads to tears. And again, frustration comes in different forms too.
I know that the connection to sentimental beauty and the feelings of needs or wants that never came to fruition are likely predators that have hurt my heart.
Or of course, there is the emptiness and the hollow guts inside of me, which is the void and the abysmal pit, the falls bottomless into the blank and lonesome abandon of having nothing and no one.
(not even me)
I think of this.
I think about this often and yes, I realize this is why I was told that wars are expensive.
I was told that it is better to learn how to build bridges, not walls.
But –
I was always too afraid to let go of the fight or the weapons of my self-destruction because what if I need my old blades?
What if I find myself vulnerable?
What if I am the fool again?
I am thinking about the story of Pandora.
I am thinking how our thoughts cause us to open unnecessary boxes and how our thoughts can lead us astray.
I have opened up too many boxes and released my worst thoughts out into the atmosphere.
And for what?
This did nothing for me but make my nightmares come true.
And then I think about hope, which was the last remnant of Pandora’s box.
I have to have this.
I need to.
Hope . . .
And then there’s you, my most precious and beautiful enemy.
And then there’s her, my eye, my hope, my sweetest pain reliever, better than any drug, any influence, or dream I’ve ever had.
I do not have much. I am not wealthy. I am far from the best looking or physically beautiful.
I know.
And this is not to say that I am ugly.
No.
This is not about that.
But more, this is about the way I feel inside. This is about the emotional reaction that comes over me when I see her face as she stares off in thought.
This is about the astonishment that overwhelms me, that someone like her is real and how she is alive and well and real to the touch.
Her eyes . . .
Her face . . .
Or the look on her face when she smiles.
All priceless.
I opened my own Pandora’s box and emptied the demons of my worst assumptions.
This caused them to disperse into the world and thus, much of my worst fears became true.
And she?
Alone and all, I view her from my place here in the comfort of my private solitude.
I see here as my hope.
I see her as this beautiful thing.
I view her in my mind at such proportion that I am unsure and amazed that someone “that beautiful” exists in this world.
My hope.
My love.
My dream.
She is . . .
And you?
My enemy.
I agree with the old saying and how you and I, “We go back like car seats.”
I remember an old man from my younger, crazier days.
I remember his simple response to life, despite his affliction and lifestyle.
I remember his surrender to the idea that life is tough and I remember his answer to the question, “What’s shakin?”
This is how I used to great him back in the summer of 1989.
The tattered old man was beat up from life and yet, he would always answer “What’s shakin,” and say, “Ain’t nothin shakin but the leaves in the trees and they wouldn’t be shaking if it wasn’t for the breeze.”
If this, then that
If that then this.
Life comes with choices and for each choice is a consequence.
So, out of curiosity, what time shall we dance?
Say, after I get home and finish at the gym?
Or wait, no.
You and I like to tussle the most in the middle of the night time and I can’t fall back to sleep.
That’s when you find me at my weakest.
But then again, you already knew that. Right?
Signed as always
Your most loyal fan
Me –
The Written Addiction 