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Old 04-26-2007, 11:06 AM
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kamikazi
Member
 
Join Date: Apr 2007
Location: Vancouver,BC
Posts: 2
New -- 104 days clean

Damn!!!

I threw my life away. Crack cocaine took me and I went willingly, at least that is the consensus among the people in my life. I've lost everything, wife,3 children, 7 figure income, house, home, self-respect; the most important thing I lost was myself. I'm not the same person anymore. I've changed -- I'm not sure for the better even if I am in recovery.

I'm afraid today. The urges are pretty bad right now and I'm sitting here at the computer literally vibrating inside fighting against myself. I don't know if it is the same for anyone else but for me the real killer is the thought that I can just have a twenty rock and let it go at that and manage. <---- BIG FAT STUPID LIE!!!!

I realize this is my addiction talking. I like to think of my battle as if it were the old cartoon cliche of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other whispering in my ears. What shoulder am I going to listen to??

There is a story I heard that is so appropriate .....


In the old days there was a great warrior who never lost a battle and was known for never surrendering or running away. One day this warrior was travelling from one village to another and laid himself down beside a stream to have a nap.

While napping the warrior had a dream. He dreamt that he woke from his nap to find a fierce warrior staring at him with a demented expression. And before he could say a single word in greeting this warrior lept upon him and began wrestling him to the ground. Throughout the rest of the day the two warriors contended. The battle was bloody and harsh, and each took many wounds.

Eventually the warriors, no longer able to draw breath, each collapsed upon the ground with mortal wounds. As the warrior laid upon the ground dying of the wounds of the battle, the people of his village came upon him. As they drew near the warrior cried out for them to beware of his opponent.

The people of his village were gentle as he was dying and with kind looks and gentle words told him he had contended not with a stranger but with the reflection of himself in the stream beside which he had slept.

Today and every day I am that warrior. I contend not with an external enemy but with one inside myself. An enemy that has all of my strength and knows all of my secret weaknesses. If I am to win this battle I must lose this battle. I must walk from the battlefield of my deranged mind a new person, I must die so that I may live.

We, the warriors of the mind, are heroes and yet not a single person will ever know the fierceness and unrelenting horror of our battles won and lost. If only for a day could I set down this battle I would. But my battle is never to end, no, for me there can be no armistice, no peace. Alone and unsung I must fight against the greatest foe ever surmounted. With no pride and no glory I must give to this battle all that I possess and all that I am.

Today I am hurting.
Tomorrow I will not.
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