They plunged through heavy walls of sound, mountains of archaic thought, valleys of mood music, bad shoe sessions and footling bats and suddenly heard a girl's voice . . .
Of course, this whole paragraph is about improbability. Things that don't make sense. That's what fuels the Heart of Gold spaceship--coincidences that are so outlandish that they create energy. That energy propels the Heart of Gold to the far reaches of the universe, proving that the Big Bang started out as two tiny pieces of insanity colliding into each other at the start of time.
There are a lot of things I don't understand, like deep-fried pickles and the appeal of Donald Trump. One of the things that truly puzzles me is the addict mind. As I've written before, I have a few addicts in my life. These people constantly make bad decisions. One of these people spends half her life stoned on pills, and the other half trying to figure out how to get more pills to get stoned again. Another of these people consistently chooses his addiction over everything else, including his children. His kids know that they can't depend on him right now, and they have stopped turning to him for help or advice or love.
The other day, I asked one of these addicts to go to a talk being given by a recovering drug addict at a local church. The talk is not just about drugs, however. It's about all addictions. Alcohol. Pornography. Sex. Food. Gambling. Anything to which you can form an unhealthy attachment. It's not going to be a tent revival meeting. It's simply one guy talking about his journey to recovery. My addict's response to this invitation: "I'll go, but it won't make a difference. I'm too stubborn."
I'm not sure if it's stubbornness or stupidity or weakness. Maybe all three. I am sure about one thing, though--you can't force an addict into recovery. That's a decision that falls squarely on the shoulders of the addict. What boggles my mind is that my addict doesn't even recognize the damage that's already happened in his life. Thousands of dollars of debt. Alienation of his spouse and children. He's lost things that he will have a hard time regaining--memories with his family, the trust of people he loves. And he just doesn't seem to care.
And I don't understand this. My addict knows his choices are bad. Knows that he's throwing away his marriage and his kids. Yet, it just doesn't seem to matter to him. He is hell-bent on self-destruction, and, as a friend, I have to sit back and watch him do it.
I know that the only thing in life that I have control over is my own actions. One of my best friends
constantly reminds me of this. However, it's really difficult coming to terms with the fact that I have to watch someone for whom I care about deeply simply disappear into his addiction. Possibly forever. His choice. Not mine.
If my addict reads this post, I hope he knows that his kids are hurting. That his young daughter thinks she's less important than his addiction. (She told her mother this one night.) I hope, somehow, these words rock him a little bit. He's a good person, making terrible choices, over and over and over. But it's never too late to make things right. He just has to have the courage to admit that he's out of control and needs help. That's the first step.
At the moment, however, this seems not impossible. Just improbable.
Saint Marty prays for this improbability tonight. His Heart of Gold is running out of fuel.
One of the most important addicts in my life has swung in and out of recovery and is currently out. It is so painful to witness. Addiction has roots that run too deep to ever be removed for some people.
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