"Sin is no longer your master, for you are no longer subject to the law, which enslaves you to sin. Instead, you are free by God's grace." Rom 6:14
by Anonymous
We struggle for years on end to acquire a disciplined method of living. We have a picture in our minds of what we are striving for, what we believe we are accomplishing, and we believe that we are fulfilling ourselves with sincerity and humility.
But all of this is erroneous from the onset. Not only are we unable to cope with the difficulties we experience in striving each new day to be spiritually ‘on top of our form’, we are also misled by the fiendish independence of the tool we use to achieve this – our intelligence. We think we have it under control, yet more often than not it conditions our thinking and inveigles us - thanks to its own magnetic attraction - into pursuing goals that are very different from the goals we had originally set for ourselves.
Thus I believed I was in control of my life, whereas in fact my choice of lifestyle was very much in control of me. As the weeks went by the outside world grew fainter – the world on which, once again, I had turned by back, though with no feeling of hatred. My own memories, even the ones that mattered to me most, seemed like an ice flow vaguely glimpsed through the fog. If I tried to focus on a specific incident in my youth, even only a decade ago, I would finish up like a marksman who’s staring so hard at his sighting notch that his vision is clouded by tears.
Anguish never becomes a stylistic exercise. I did whatever I needed to relieve my pain, preferring unbearable existence to greatness, and the guarantee of a little warmth to the risk of desolation. No, anguish never does become a stylistic exercise, but squalor can become habitual.
Less than half a year ago I decided to consensually leave this world that I found so hateful. At that time everything that happened brought me further proof that it was ludicrous to put any faith in the human race. Little by little, having once believed that life is endlessly renewed in the pursuit of perfection, I started loathing the human race. I started loathing myself. I personally had lost any desire to save myself from the annihilation that had been my lot from the outset, and my life had been a failure.
During that time I watched as my ideals fell about my ears. One after the other, all my hopes crumbled and my vision of man was transformed into something quite horrific. Rather than let the abyss come to me, I had elected to go willingly to the abyss myself. To quote St. Paul, “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.”
Something happened to me then. Somehow the Grace of God saved me from a situation that I could not even imagine my way out of. I’ve come to realize that I was going through great lengths to mask my pain, preferring a bearable existence to one of greatness, and the guarantee of a little warmth to the risk of desolation. I am through sacrificing my future for a familiar, and thereby comfortable today. I have utilized my period of incarceration in very much the same way as a caterpillar uses its chrysalis state, to undergo a period of fundamental transformation.
Although I cannot hope to restore the sense of security that I have robbed from so many communities, it is my hope that perhaps my writing will give you some insight into my mindset during my thirteen year run as an addict, and offer a glimmer of hope that change is not out of reach for anybody, even a long term addict.
We struggle for years on end to acquire a disciplined method of living. We have a picture in our minds of what we are striving for, what we believe we are accomplishing, and we believe that we are fulfilling ourselves with sincerity and humility.
But all of this is erroneous from the onset. Not only are we unable to cope with the difficulties we experience in striving each new day to be spiritually ‘on top of our form’, we are also misled by the fiendish independence of the tool we use to achieve this – our intelligence. We think we have it under control, yet more often than not it conditions our thinking and inveigles us - thanks to its own magnetic attraction - into pursuing goals that are very different from the goals we had originally set for ourselves.
Thus I believed I was in control of my life, whereas in fact my choice of lifestyle was very much in control of me. As the weeks went by the outside world grew fainter – the world on which, once again, I had turned by back, though with no feeling of hatred. My own memories, even the ones that mattered to me most, seemed like an ice flow vaguely glimpsed through the fog. If I tried to focus on a specific incident in my youth, even only a decade ago, I would finish up like a marksman who’s staring so hard at his sighting notch that his vision is clouded by tears.
Anguish never becomes a stylistic exercise. I did whatever I needed to relieve my pain, preferring unbearable existence to greatness, and the guarantee of a little warmth to the risk of desolation. No, anguish never does become a stylistic exercise, but squalor can become habitual.
Less than half a year ago I decided to consensually leave this world that I found so hateful. At that time everything that happened brought me further proof that it was ludicrous to put any faith in the human race. Little by little, having once believed that life is endlessly renewed in the pursuit of perfection, I started loathing the human race. I started loathing myself. I personally had lost any desire to save myself from the annihilation that had been my lot from the outset, and my life had been a failure.
During that time I watched as my ideals fell about my ears. One after the other, all my hopes crumbled and my vision of man was transformed into something quite horrific. Rather than let the abyss come to me, I had elected to go willingly to the abyss myself. To quote St. Paul, “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.”
Something happened to me then. Somehow the Grace of God saved me from a situation that I could not even imagine my way out of. I’ve come to realize that I was going through great lengths to mask my pain, preferring a bearable existence to one of greatness, and the guarantee of a little warmth to the risk of desolation. I am through sacrificing my future for a familiar, and thereby comfortable today. I have utilized my period of incarceration in very much the same way as a caterpillar uses its chrysalis state, to undergo a period of fundamental transformation.
Although I cannot hope to restore the sense of security that I have robbed from so many communities, it is my hope that perhaps my writing will give you some insight into my mindset during my thirteen year run as an addict, and offer a glimmer of hope that change is not out of reach for anybody, even a long term addict.
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