I’ve noticed that you like studying me — studying my movement, mimicking how I pronounce words, and you’ve even taken to offering unsolicited suggestions, aimed at helping me be better. Better. I ponder your motives, wondering if ulterior or genuine. It seems to amuse you, criticizing what I wear, how I dress, and how I walk. I’ve even caught you snickering more than a few times, so I ask myself what place does someone like you have in my life now — my new life. My life graced with the reprieve of recovery.
Allow me to step back in time a little — back to one of those chilly nights when I sat in my car tweaking off of what I had indulged in earlier that evening. I was parked side-ways in the driveway at 2252, a few feet from the backdoor of a man grew to despise — someone who I allowed to nearly destroy me with that wicked blow he was peddling. Over the years I saw his many faces — they were seducing, enticing, and always inviting. As long as I had what he wanted in the form of that mean green, I was always welcome. The red carpet was always rolled out for me and my fat wallet.
Now, back to you. You share similar oppressive qualities with this individual. You enter from a side angle, sizing me up like a tight parking space, trying to get in where you fit in, but you may as well put your car back in drive and speed away. I find you insulting and repulsive. I want no parts of the olive branch you present to me, because it is merely a ploy to consume my spirit, and resume a dangerous kind of relationship that nearly destroyed me.
Who needs someone like you in their life? Who needs to be picked apart like the skid red meat of some road kill beneath a vultures beak? There was a time when I had no love of self in my life — a time when I had no dignity and no aspiration of being anything more than a reclusive drug addict.
Yeah, there’s nothing alluring about being friends with someone like you, so you take your deceptive charm and your rat like wit, and scatter away from me like rain water down a steep slope, because there’s no place for you here — not in my life, not in my world, not in my serenity.
People like you are genetic deformities to peace. You’re always searching for some lonely soul to attach yourself to, but I see you just as vivid as I see that sparkling and brilliant dawn of a beautiful new day, so return to the murky pit you call home, and never darken my path again. There is no place for you in this peaceful space called “Recovery.”
God, grant me the serenity….
G||D 8|12|2015 © 2015