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Her Next Fix

June 11, 2009

She throws her head back. For another shot. Another shot of whiskey.

Another shot she hopes will kill the pain. Another shot that will only delay it.

She cries out that she wants another life. That this one isn’t good enough anymore.

Really she’s crying out for help. Thinking she’s the one that isn’t good enough.

Her job isn’t fulfilling. Her relationships aren’t fulfilling. She isn’t fulfilled.

Life for her is about the next fix. She is the sum of her urges.

But when will she see?

That she is worth dying for. That she is loved. That she can love.

But she says she’s scared to quit drinking because she’ll have to face her problems.

Just wish she could see past that bottle.

If it were up to our own strength, no one could do it. No one is perfect. No one is strong enough alone. And I don’t expect her to be. Everyone needs a little help along their way.

My own mistakes, that I’ve made, are more obvious than I wish. And knowing my pain, I ache for her to be free.

I’d give anything to give her another shot.

This time another shot at life. A different one. A shot at being free from this.

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