(A poem of struggle and excuses)

Sometimes you followed me home
and slipped in under the door.
Sometimes you were a man –
dimpled smile, winks and promises.
Sometimes you stayed too long in the morning,
rolling one day into the next.
Sometimes you were a missed step,
then another, and another.

Sometimes you spoke in my own voice,
but the wrong cadence.
Sometimes you were a man –
razor eyes, tricks and hollows.
Sometimes you faded
as softly as you came.
Sometimes you bellowed and
broke through.

Sometimes you echoed and ricocheted;
in loops, skips and fractals.
Sometimes you were a man –
hungry and shrunken.
Sometimes you were wiper blades and raindrops,
frantic and blinding.
Sometimes you were broken glass and
cuts on my knuckles.

Sometimes you were all the lost things,
misplaced or dropped.
Sometimes you were a man –
or what was left of him.
Sometimes you were silence
or the deafness of my own blood-beats.
Sometimes you were vacancy and
crowds filling in spaces.

Sometimes you held me,
like a cradle or a cage.
Sometimes you were a man –
until eventually you weren’t.
Sometimes you were the entrance
and the precipice.
Sometimes I fought you
or at least wondered if I should.

©Vixen Lea 2021

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I was addicted to alcohol for over two decades. It permeated my life — a normal life on the surface, but simmering inside was a darkness that crept into everything I did.

I was not in control, nor do I consider myself a victim to disease. Although I would have denied this to anyone who asked, I knew that I was willingly giving my power over to this numbing substance each time I chose to drink.

I let alcohol take the wheel over and over again.

Deep down I could feel that my personal power was still there, however, waiting for me to reclaim it. That spark from my youth of loving life and seizing joy had never really gone away… it just flickered small and dormant, buried under piles of pain and discontent, waiting for me to wake up.

Three years ago I finally found the strength to put conviction behind my decision to divorce myself from alcohol.

I did not attend AA meetings (although I know this is a powerful tool for many). Instead, I picked up some self-help books and got real with myself regarding the extent of my abuse of alcohol. It was not easy at first, but I cannot imagine ever going back. 🦄

It is never too late for a new beginning.

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Originally published in Being Known, a small but mighty publication of Medium.com