ADDICTED

Approx Reading Time: 4-6 minutes

It is two in the morning. He is sitting and his hands hold tightly on to the edges of the bed as if for dear life. He is shaking. He squeezes the blankets tightly to steady himself but it does nothing. He holds his head up to push back the tears but it does not help. He throws himself back on the bed as his hands cover his face. Then through quivering lips he recites the words:

“Have mercy on me O God according to Your steadfast love; according to Your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.”

He squeezes his eyes shut trying so hard to believe the words will help take away the guilt that is weighing heavy on him. He opens them, and immediately his eyes, filled with tears, wander through the dark room. He closes them again, stills himself as he tries to remember everything. In an instant it all comes back to him.

“For at the window of my house I have looked out through my lattice, and I have seen among the simple, I have perceived among the youths, a young man lacking sense.”

The words of the preacher hit him hard. It was he that the preacher was speaking of the entire time. His perpetual actions proved he lacked sense.

“All at once he follows her, as an ox goes to the slaughter, or as a stag is caught fast till an arrow pierces its liver; a bird rushes into a snare; he does not know that it will cost him his life.”

He remembers that it was curiosity that had started everything. He lets out a sigh and then buries his face in his palms. When it all started Rupiah Banda was in office, and at the time this was written Edgar Lungu was. When everything was starting he did not know better and now that he did it made no difference.

Over and over again he had promised himself that it would be the last time. He tried everything he could to be free from his addiction: he had read articles online, listened to Tedtalks and sermons, told his church elders and even strangers about it, saw a therapist, plucked out his right eye, memorized bible verses and had prayed and fasted about it. Now all he could think of in his world growing small, dark and brittle was that he probably had not done these things hard enough. 

A few times, though, he would have breaks from his addiction. Nothing longer than two months, nevertheless. Somehow, he always found a way to fall right back to where he was the last time, as if there was no break. His addiction would have been patiently waiting for him all the while, like a faithful dog.

He had read the quote, ‘think of how much greater the joy is than the guilt if you fight it,’ or something like that. One day he was lying in his bed when the temptation came. He wished the blanket, then the bed and then the floor itself could all swallow him if only so he wouldn’t give in this time. But that’s not how the world works and so he gave in and the spiral continued. 

His mother once found him out. She cried and, on her knees, pled with him to stop and this left his heart bleeding. But the truth that he could do it again without her knowing made him continue in it. 

He had made promises and resolves to himself and people, only to see them broken a day after.

When he read articles about addiction and the effects they have, instead of contemplating on what it meant for him, the people around him and God, he’d think it was just another scare tactic. If he heard a story of another addict, he would think, blaming the victim. If he was reminded of how much of a depressant it really was, he’d think, like life isn’t a depressant, too.  

Lying there, he began to think of what his addiction had taught him: 

If he found himself needing to drown in something, he would drown in promises, broken and kept. All those promises made seven years ago, three months ago and two days ago. That this was not like high school relationships, where if it becomes too much or not enough, you make up an excuse and leave. You elope with your addiction whenever it calls. 

You do not have to be good. 

You do not have to regret or repent. 

You do not have to say what you’re grateful for. 

You just have to not give in when the temptation comes. Tonight. 

He then moves to the floor, and sitting there he hugs his knees, rocking back and forth, mumbling regretfully, “I want to be free, I want to be free.” 

He thinks to himself that it stands to reason that what he once thought was simply a habit was actually an addiction. He realized that each time he made excuses for it –I am stressed, I had a rough day, it’s my birthday- none of it was circumstantial. 

It was now three in the morning. While everyone was asleep he was sitting on the cold hard floor, remorseful. He moved on to his knees, closed his eyes and then, exhausted with himself, whispered, “God, it’s me again.” He knew that this just helped feel less guilty and that deep down he just wished he was not an addict. 

After the short prayer he thinks to himself that maybe his story was not over. But then that depends on what definition of a story he was using in that moment. 

He’s twenty two at this point in his life and all he wants to do is leave a note for anyone who hasn’t already plunged into the same hole as he, someone on the outside looking in. There’s a lot he didn’t know: knowing how to un-addict himself was at the top of the list.

But here’s what he knew:

Look. You do not have to satisfy every curiosity you have. From your curiosity to kiss, to taste alcohol, to have sex, to smoke a cigarette and to watch what sex looks like. Not always, but very often the first try seals the deal. The die is cast. No questions asked. One line crossed. Crossing back may require the struggle of a lifetime. And one lifetime is all we’re given. The freedom you own can so easily be whisked away from you. It’s the one thing he wished he knew in 2011. 

Now, go save yourself. 

Anon