Community Magazine

Ode to the Addict

By Amanda Bruce @RecoveryisCake

I entered the room.

There she was, vamping and posing for the camera.  I resented her.  She was a swirling, invented version of herself when she was like this.  Sort of like a bobblehead, but not in the skinny way.  She was off-balance, teetering this way and the next and you never knew when she was going to crash and fall down.

It was so predictable.  I watched her come and go; she usually came when things got heavy.  And the crazy thing was?  People loved her.  They were way more drawn in by her instability than my calm.  She would prance her way into a room, wearing the shortest skirt; people would bow.  She would write you a list of her most embarassing woes; others would adulate her carefree, translucent ways.

I mean, it made sense.  It made things better.  She had only been using these ways since she was 15 or so.  It was a pattern she had trouble shaking.

Over time, I watched her return.  Interestingly enough, her entrances became less grand and her eyes looked more deadened with each return.  I wondered if she was beginning to see what I saw; that no matter how lovely her smile was, or how uniquely her soul shined compared to the others, she never changed.  She attracted the same crowd, she felt the same feelings, she reaped the same result.  She watched me, and others, move on and feel and struggle and do new things.  She knew that, no matter how protective her pretty cloak, she would never feel any joy.  That joy that makes space in your head for new things.  That contentment that settles into your soul when you sit in the sun on the edge of an ocean.

I didn’t resent her once I figured out I had been looking into a mirror.

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