by Meghan Gallagher

Created on: December 29, 2007

A Drug Addicted Person

I am an addict, and I have led a dangerously addictive lifestyle since the age of sixteen. Sometimes I bug out because I feel as though I am dying everyday rather than living life to its full potential. I can attribute the reasons I am not in jail or in an institution today to the unconditional love and support I am blessed with from family and friends. I know that ultimately I will be alright because I have a willingness to serve the purpose that God has in store for me during my physical life. A physical life that proves to be a test day after monotonous day. This faith might be the only explanation as to why I haven't died from an accidental overdose. I've tried to be brave, but I don't always have enough grace to act virtuously. The sinful thoughts manifest in my mind as I fight temptation all the day long; but I know fighting the thoughts tends to exacerbate the source of sin. Meditation allows for thoughts to pass more freely though the mind instead of dwelling on or fighting these desires; but God, sometimes, He just doesn't come through; and I have to accept that it's his time, not mine, as I crave instant gratification instead of patiently waiting. The ideas go from passing thoughts to full blown obsessions to use drugs, drink alcohol, and eat excessive amounts of food. The evil one that relentlessly aims to defeat my flesh and end the life of my physical body - this is a presence that haunts me like headless horsemen chasing me deeper and deeper into darkness.

This is true: the desire which possesses be to become high will result in an untimely death, unless I finally come to accept that which I am chasing after is but a mere apparition. I must surrender to this never-ending unfurling chase and allow God to remove me from the track that has me spiraling out of control, lap after lap. After the trigger is pulled, the demon is released. This trigger is something that I may have no control over, I'm not the one holding the gun. Society holds the gun, the environmental influences are the bullets; I have no control over my wounded spirit if I'm not keen enough to recognize where the aim lies. After my obsessive ideas come to fruition, the sin is already committed; and nothing else matters during those moments of false peace, but the solace I feel in the moments of empty bliss which consume my mind for uncomfortable lengths of time. I am patiently waiting for God to save me from myself; and there is no way that I will have the sort

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