I know you’re suffering. Maybe it is silent. Perhaps you’re so numb, you don’t even know you’re in pain anymore. You don’t even know you haven’t stopped. That you can’t.
But we know.
We know our pain, watching you.
Watching your eyes close at the dinner table.
Watching you trip over nothing.
Watching the only car parked in the lot, before the store employees get there.
Watching you wait on the corner.
Watching you scratch, sniff, shuffle, pick your nails, your face, your hands.
Watching you disappear.
We know because we live with your addiction too. Your husband. Your wife. Your mother and father. Your friends.
We live with everything you do, except the escape.
We never get to escape.
And when you go, we don’t get to say goodbye.
Your husband. Your wife. Your mother and father. Your friends. Your children.
You don’t get to say goodbye.
And we live with that.
Don’t give up. We can’t let you give up.