In the dreary midwinter
time is never-ending and merciless.
I chase the shadow’s
bright reflections, brittle patterns
on the silvery snow.
This distracts me from the echoing lament
I woke with today.
Melancholy sits dismally on my chest, like a lethargic cat
As I consider what’s gone wrong with me.
There’s always something and I’m as tired as the winter is long.
I chase the shadows.
Somehow, they hold hope
when I’ve got none.
“Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of god is glue. — Eugene O’Neill
p>Ever conscious of the grace of God. As I think and pray about, and write the details of my addiction story, it is heavy. The weight of mistakes, the shame of walking backwards trudging through the broken ways my addiction hurt my family; It’s heavy to carry it. Thanks for your prayers as I finish up an essay on How to Love an Addict.
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