IM AN ADDICT

I—

…

I’m—

 

No.

Don’t make me say it like that.

Don’t make it sound clean.

It ain’t clean.

 

It’s jagged teeth and shaking hands,

it’s swallowing shame like it’s holy water

and still feeling cursed.

 

I’m—

…

 

God, it sticks in my throat

like a confession I never wanted to make,

like a sin I didn’t know I was committing

until I was already on my knees for it.

 

I’m an addict.

 

There.

I said it—

but it didn’t come out right.

It came out cracked,

like glass under pressure,

like something breaking instead of healing.

 

Because I don’t chase chaos—

I chase feeling better.

 

And isn’t that twisted?

Isn’t that the cruelest joke?

 

I didn’t wake up one day and say

“Let me ruin myself.”

 

No—

I said,

“Let me breathe.”

 

Just once.

Just a little easier.

Just a little quieter in my head.

 

But quiet became hunger.

Hunger became need.

Need became chains dressed up like comfort.

 

And now—

now I reach for relief

like it’s oxygen

and I’m drowning in a room full of air.

 

I’m an addict.

 

Say it louder.

No—

I can’t.

 

Because louder makes it real,

and real means I gotta look at myself

without excuses,

without poetry,

without pretty lies to soften the edges.

 

I’m addicted to not hurting.

Addicted to escape routes.

Addicted to anything that whispers,

“Hey… you don’t have to feel this right now.”

 

And I listen.

Every.

Damn.

Time.

 

Even when I know

it’s a thief dressed like a savior.

 

Even when I know

it’s digging deeper holes

while handing me a ladder made of smoke.

 

I hate it.

God, I fucking hate it.

 

But I love the silence it gives me

for just a second—

that dangerous, beautiful second

where I’m not drowning in myself.

 

Do you understand that war?

 

To crave the thing

that’s killing you—

because it also feels like

the only thing keeping you alive?

 

I’m—

 

…

 

I’m an addict.

 

And it feels like confessing

to wanting peace

the wrong way.

 

Like my soul learned

a shortcut

and now it don’t know how

to take the long road home.

 

But listen—

listen close—

 

This ain’t me giving up.

 

This is me

dragging the truth into the light

kicking and screaming,

blood on its teeth,

voice shaking like a storm about to break—

 

because maybe…

 

maybe if I can say it

without choking on it…

 

maybe I can start

learning how to live

without needing it.

 

I’m an addict.

 

And I’m still here.

…

 

Trying

to say it

without disappearing.