“Hello, my name is Eric, and I’m an addict.”
“Hello, Eric,” they answered in benign unison.
“Eric,” the leader started with syrupy kindness, “we’ve
all been there. We understand.”
How could they know, really? They haven’t been afflicted
like I have, no way. The leader continued. “Eric, I can see from your face that
you don’t believe me.”
So the dude’s also a mind reader, I thought. He still
doesn’t know anything.
“Eric…”he started. I couldn’t help myself.
“Look, bitch,” I said in a growl with the intensity of an
MMA fighter, “you don’t know. You don’t. And stop calling me by my name every
time you talk to me!”
“Well,” the leader started, pushing his luck with faux
patience. I could see in his eyes he didn’t like to be challenged, and he’d had
no one challenge him for a long time. “What would you like us to call you
then?”
“You don’t need to call me anything, because I’m out of
here. My addiction is the first thing I think of when I wake up. It’s the last
thing I think of when I sleep. During the day, my mind reverts to it. I dream
of it. You understand me? YOU…CAN’T…HELP…ME!”
Now I was yelling, standing. I caught a glimpse of myself
in the plate glass window behind the leader of the group. Hell, I scared myself.
His face remained calm, but I could see something in his eyes that made me realize
that maybe he was beginning to believe me.
To his credit, he composed himself, cleared his throat
and said with that same bullshit sweetness, “Eric…er…I mean…friend, we’ve
been here for addicts of all kinds.” The others nodded. “We’ve seen meth
addicts, heroin addicts, sex addicts, gambling addicts, even workaholics come
through our program. Not one has failed permanently. There is no addiction that
we cannot cure.” He paused, smiling condescendingly and continued. “You’re new
here. Please, won’t you tell us the nature of your addiction, and put it in the
hands of your Higher Power, and let us support you in your full and complete
recovery? Hmm?” The others nodded, hopefully, smiling.
I glared at him. Fine. He asked for it. “Her name is
April. April Theisen.”
A man screamed and someone dropped a glass as the Leader’s face fell. Silence ruled the room with an iron fist for several seconds. The leader, his eyes wide, swallowed hard. In a hoarse voice he muttered, “Well you’re fucked.”
--Eric Marley
July 2012
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