Enslavement

© 2011 jeffa 1st draft composed 3am 3/27/2011 | 3/30/2011 9:44am 2nd draft.

It was the moment. It was the moment I realized. It was the moment I saw it in her eyes.

It was a horror, the horror of enslavement, the moment of realization, that my actions had enabled the enslavement of another human to the misery I thought I enjoyed in the insatiable unrelenting desire to smoke yet another hit of mind numbing, brain eradicating de moralizing ever justifying anything and everything cocaine.

The misery that stoked my misery in a self fueling indulgence spiraling inward, snarling downward as uncontrolled inexplicable unjustified, undignified and ultimately unrewarded compulsion consumed what is anyone’s most precious, un holdable, un purchasable un stoppable progression that intangible jewel our ever proceeding forward to the end of our knowing – our time.

The misery that smoked my friends. The misery that smoked my house. The misery that smoked my career. The misery that smoked my marriage. The misery that fueled itself.

I saw it in her eyes as I looked out the peep hole in the door of the hotel room I was staying in, that on one Saturday morning she showed up with that look. That look in her eyes. That look in her eyes that implored. That look in her eyes that said, without her knowing the words, “Get this monkey off my back” For just a moment. For just a moment get this fiend fed. And in that moment I had a specific coherent realization of what I had enabled. Of what I had awoken in me, what I had fed in me and what I had allowed her to do what she did to her own self. And yet I placed another rock of cocaine on my chest to test my ability to even breathe having already ceased to live.

In the dichotomy of absurdity having an affair, with this woman who was my employee, things I found attractive other than her physical beauty were her attention to details in her profession, her attention and commitment to her family and community. Yet introducing her to the enslavement that was already beginning the consumption of my pre enslavement values was quickly eradicating those qualities I desired in her. And on that Saturday morning she was giving up her family for her new false love cocaine. That was my horror, the horror of enslavement of another. Bad enough the waste I had made of myself. Now I was not only encouraging her demise with my ‘gift’ but depriving her family, her husband, her daughters of the nurturing gifts that I had found so attractive. In that moment of horror I found a moment of clarity about the reality of addiction but it passed as I put another rock on my chest. I would need still more horrors to find a motivation to somehow stop the insatiable waste of living, of health and of that irreplaceable commodity time.

Aside: OK that’ll do for a first draft this morning. It’s 3:57am I don’t know why addiction exists, nor do I know how I got started. I wonder why I continued and I sure don’t know how but I’m sure glad I stopped smoking that white bitch cocaine.