The Return

There are no warning notices. I’m a liar, a charlatan, an addict. Beleve or don’t.

I entered the hospital system, not for the first time, but the first time for addicton. I was given a room. Isolation. With a PC. Are you kidding? I asked destiny. This is perfect.

I hammered out text until I heard the voice outside. Calling everyone liars. “Booze, booze, booze, all I hear,” the voice cried. I closed my eyes, surpressed the memories. I’ve been there. Done that. The humiliation persists.

I went to class with my head hung low. Then I heard the stories. Heads hung lower than mine. Unelievable stories, each with equal regret. I was sobered. Deeply.

Soon I came upon the expressions, “you can’t imagine” or “you can’t believe” in my own notes.

That is not true. You can believe, you can imagine, never let a chartalan deceive you.

The hospital course was outstanding. Study and self-help, perfection in motion.

There is no cure for addiction. You are or you’re not. I am.

It may go by personality types. Nicotine had me hooked bad. God forbid I try heroin.

Why this confession, why now, why anything?

A month later I feel free. I tried returnng to work. They wouldn’t have me. Until a doctor said so. On paper.

They don’t trust the charlatan. Maybe you shouldn’t either. I’m a liar and an addict.