20150420_144214-1-1I remember back then,

When I had my hands raised to the sky, askin’ the Heavens, “how do I fix this?”,

I didn’t want to be on that chart of all those unfortunate fatal addict statistics,

 “Why me?”

Self-pity surrounded,

To be specific and simplistic,

What’s the point of me livin’, if I was engulfed in a hopeless existence?,

Sufferin’ with disorders and a sickness which everyone had to unfortunately witness,

Substance abuse,

Severe depression,

Was I born with this?

Anxiety too,

 Is there a way for me to unequip it?,

 

So,

I wrote and I wrote about it,

Somehow satisfied in my sinkin’ sand of sadness,

Not sure how, but I became ‘one’ with the anger and all the madness,

Holes in the sheetrock, couldn’t express my feelings right, so that’s the way I always

Had to have it,

Cryin’ till my eyes hurt,

 Yet,

Kept writin’ to what I figured could eventually be to the masses,

Maybe have people take a second look at the severity of depression and suffering addict’s actions,

Not just the stigma that’s judged and only seen through clouded glasses,

 And,….

 For all I knew, they would just stand back, look at me,

The wreck,

  All together just start shakin’ their heads questionin’ and laughin’,

It was honestly a notebook cry for help,

 Sounds really weird but that’s really how it happened,

Not a normal situation,

I understand,

 But that’s the state of mind I was wrestling with and grapplin’,

Panic attacks daily,

Didn’t want help from anyone, but I knew I needed an overhaulin’ drastic,

Knowing I was a downward spiral was the worst,

Knowing I was up close and personal to havoc, chaos and tragic,

Didn’t know how to make it through,

Not a single trick up my sleeves,

And no,

They didn’t hold any sort of special magic,

Such a tough position,

With no way to simply transition,

No matter how hard I tried, there was no way I could’ve ever kept it untreated and hidden,

Felt so guilty all the time too because I knew this wasn’t the life I was first given,

Crumplin’ up many of those poems that I had written,

Trash barrel was the box, the other rubbish in it being the ribbon,

For my self-esteem and thoughts were also in those same poems,

Therefore, my inner-self and well-being were also all shrivelin’,

Ice cold heart was frostbitten and shiverin’,

My poetic pen grimacin’, because all I could produce were depressed lines which were ragin’ hateful driven,

Hand shakin’,

 Insanity creepin’ in,

 My whole entire body stress filled and quiverin’,

Couldn’t escape the out of control emotions, so verbal abuse was the newspaper I was headlinin’ and hand deliverin’,

 

Causin’ other people fear, ‘a walkin’ nightmare’ coulda been the name of my broadcastin’ addiction “editions”,

It seemed like bringin’ loved ones down around me was my thinking process, and my every day daily mission,

Values and morals that I had been raised on disappeared without a sight,

Somehow they had always came up sadly missin’,

My brain had been so badly beaten up,

All together confused,

Discombobulated, knots twisted,

Life was misery,

 It seemed like it was over,

 Many days existed that I had gone on and almost wished it,

 

But thank God for God, the whole time He also witnessed,

When I decided to Pray again, I came to the realization that He was always there listenin’,

Thank the Lord I had been heard,

Pleadin’ for a miracle, a cure, but the answer always seemed so lost in translation and so distant,

But somehow, someway, He helped me with my disease,

 One day I miraculously felt it in an instant,

If I could hear Him speak He probably said, “Dave, every step you took, the last thing I would ever do

Would be to leave you strugglin’ in the distance,”

This is why this new life is a special gift,

 Bein’ in recovery is like years full of constant Christmas,

Prayers were answered without a doubt,

 He had granted me my wish list.

 

By: Dave Riley