(no subject)
Tonight, as I quickeningly sobered while listening to a friend I've considered a little brother for sometime bawl his self to peace I started to come to the realization.
This friend of mine, a person I consider to be very strong, cried because he'd broken a long streak of sobriety, tonight.
Months spent in what seemed like to him, in those moments in which I clutched him tight like a broken animal, to be a futile cause.
I tried to nurse him back to his common determined state, using points that then should've been burning into his skull.
I told him that the road from disillusionment is a much more bitter, frustrating, and pain-staking path then the simple sip of something vile that delivered him long into the arms of the forsaken.
That I have strayed many a time, and that there are few of us that had fallen so deep into a slumber of numbness to be able to pull our atrophied psyches from such tight clutches on a first attempt might require slight intervention from some higher power.
I told him that this addiction, as well as any other that deals with such an easily acquired psychological and physical dependence, would require more will-power than any man of as little faith as we could muster.
Also, that the slightest inclination followed by action could set him back into the heart of the beast as far as before.
I said these words without thinking, and then on my silent drive home, I realized as most horrid advice givers do, that the words that I rubbed onto his back like a healing balm, I should maybe consider for my own situations.
At that exact moment, I decided that moderation (The joy that it is!) will have to have a more powerful bearing on my decisions of this frigid horror of a break.
As for myself, earlier in the night, the beast came to the surface, and I could feel his hot breath hitting the inside of cheek-bones. I felt his claws struggle for more room in my suddenly tight-fitting shoes. I felt his eyes directing me to every curve and accentuation of any nearby females form.
Thankfully, the wee hours of the morning came sooner than he would've liked, and all grew tired.
Safety in sleep.
That is when my friend, the wretch, started to spill his every secret in a sequence of poorly strung together sentences.
That pushed the monster back. My own fear of becoming this bent figure weeping in the night brought the defenses to a new level of awareness, and I was once again ready to fight what I've been controlling for a short time now.
A person, some would say a better person than myself, once told me that all things are great in moderation.
I have yet to find the balance of said moderation.
To open the door, is to let the beast roam free, and to shut it is send all energy to quelling the clawing at the door.
Good wishes to all.
May you find a way to quench the thirst, without divulging in the wicked, without gaining carnal knowledge of the anonymous, or unworthy.