Looking in from the outside

"Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol, or morphine or idealism."

It's so easy to let the glasses slip to the end of our slightly turned up noses and judge. When we cannot, for all the thinking and over thinking in the world, wrap up the actions of others into understandable, delectable little packages, our instinct is to judge.

An innate response to that which we cannot understand. Judgement, however prickly and ugly we may know it to be, is fostered in us from birth.

Interestingly enough, judgement can serve us impeccably well in instances where we judge our surroundings or actions as negative and run screaming in the opposite direction. That kind of assumptive thought is an element necessary to survival for which we should be thankful. On the underbelly, however, judgement can scoop us up, grasping directly under our arms, and float us neatly to a resting place atop pedestals for which we are unfit to stand.

I came across this quote when I was reading an article the other day (listed above) and for whatever reason, the matter between my shoulders hasn't been able to release it from the grips. It struck me in a palpable way, this notion that addiction is imbalanced and, in my opinion sad, in whatever form it lives and breaths.

Sometimes, I imagine addiction as a little troll, dwelling right behind the flower patch that's so tempting to stick your nose into and take a deep breath. Just patiently waiting to reach up with grubby little troll hands and replace the flower with poison the minute your eyes close in an attempt to fully appreciate the scent.

However you look at it, whatever your opinion or lack of opinion may be, whether you've spent hours or seconds thinking about addiction, I think we can all agree that addiction is a nasty beast.

The interesting element to addiction is that it robs not only the addict but all those that love and admire that addict, of that person. Losing someone while standing face to face with them is a completely different kind of loss. This tangible loss in indescribable. Watching a person melt before your eyes as if you were indulging in a midnight showing of The Wizard of Oz is an experience that haunts you.

The haunting is strongest when you allow yourself to question not only the motivations of the lost but also the motivations of the remaining. When you begin to investigate the demise from angles scientist everywhere would be proud of and are repeatedly left empty handed, the loss turns on you like a trick mirror in a fun house.

The who-it's and what-it's and why-it's of addiction will always be with me. Grieving the loss of someone who still walks and talks has been an out of body experience from which I am certain I have learned something; yet uncertain of exactly what that lesson may be.

For now...I find myself grateful that I am beginning the process of separating the addiction from the person and accepting sad facts to be sad facts.

Tackling the why-it's? I'll leave that for another day.