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If Addiction Could Talk

This image portrays If Addiction Could Talk by Addiction Poetry.

If Addiction Could Talk 

by Leeanna Kligis

I can’t wait to escape all my problems.

And forget that they’ll all come back in the morning.


I am trying.

But I don’t know how to do this.


I’ve been programmed with an addict brain.


A quick fix that gives me instant gratification.


It’s the only thing I know.

I constantly wonder if everyone feels this messed up.


I am so confused.


I’m not sure what I want anymore.


Or who I am.


I set goals but don’t follow through.


I am a failure.


I feel like I’ve tried everything, and nothing works.


I just want to fix me.


But am I even broken?


One last time.


No one has to know.


I’ll get back on track.


Am I addicted?

I’ll start tomorrow.

I’ll stop tomorrow.

It feels like I’m at war with myself.

People are scared to say these things out loud.


But I’m not.

Because it’s so spot on that I have chills running down my spine.


Or is it fast?


My memory is foggy and things blur together..

It’s romantic.

How in love with escaping my life I am.

I don’t need anything or anyone else.

Besides snacks and sleep aids.

I want to be alone….

Party by myself.


I have no desire to be intimate since I started medication again.

Because no one understands what I’m going through.

I am content with my addiction.

Then I’m not.

I decide to quit.

And I do.

But lately I can’t control it.

It’s odd.

I just want to sedate myself.

I want to chill and sleep and escape.

I feel crazy.

I’m addicted to a feeling.

I miss my old life.

Way less thinking, that’s for sure.

I don’t even know how to be sober right now.

But it’s the last time… Right?


The old me is back.


For the night at least.

I just saw them in the mirror.

The old me is dangerous and sexy and exciting and way more fun than sober me.


I finally feel good again.

But I can’t talk to people about it anymore.


I have done this over and over again.

I’m like the person that cried sobriety.


I am a hypocrite. An imposter.


I have no credibility.

That’s how I feel.

What is the real reason we want to use substance?

To escape.

Escape what you ask?

That loud self-critical voice.

The harsh inner dialog that never quiets down.

Are the pills making me better or worse?

What’s the point?

To feel good.

To forget.

To remember.


To make it until tomorrow I guess.

I’m trapped in the past and racing toward the future.

I can’t handle my thoughts anymore.

They are screaming at me.


I feel so alone.


Will things ever get better?


I just want peace.



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