Addicts are control freaks, I’m a control freak. With a loaded syringe in hand I feel unstoppable… no fear, no pain. I’m 10 feet tall and bulletproof. And then I come down and all of that perfection, that beautiful control, just falls to crap. I have always believed that self-control is strength. That calmness in chaos is mastery. That being able to get to a point where my mood doesn’t change because of outside circumstances is the ultimate expression of power. I have always believed that letting emotions overpower intelligence is weakness and that if I could master self-control, I could master anything. I still believe those things to some extent, but no one can stay in control all the time. Intellectually, I know that the more I try to control something, the more that thing controls me. But if I'm honest, I'm afraid that breaking down might be the end of my sanity. Admitting I don’t know how to play the hand I’ve been dealt might defeat me. I’m afraid that letting go of what little control I have left will push me over the edge and I won’t be able to come back from it. These days I don’t wonder why people go crazy. I wonder why people don’t. In the face of what we can lose in a day, in an instant, I wonder what the hell it is that makes us hold it together.

The problem with addiction is even when I think I’m in control, I’m not. When the ground falls out from under me and my world collapses, maybe I just need to have faith and trust that I can survive this. Maybe I just need to hold on tight while letting go…I don’t think anybody likes to lose control, but to an addict there’s nothing worse. It’s a sign of weakness, of giving up. Still, there always comes a time when it just gets away from you, when the world stops spinning, and you realize your shiny little needle isn’t going to save you. No matter how hard you fight it, you fall. It’s scary as hell. Except there’s an upside to the free fall. It’s the chance you give others to catch you.