One Step at a Time

Poetry that heals…

From Ana Maria: I wrote this when my sibling was dying a long slow death from addiction, nobody else cared that they were dying, others saw something I never have done. All I ever see when I look to an addict is someone powerless to save themselves, all while the world stands in ignorance, blaming them for not being able to do what it wants – heal their brain, neurological pathways, and mental disorder, and all without compassion from those around them, without LOVE.

I will always love every single struggling addict that I come across, because in their world, I may be the only person left doing such a thing for them. We talk, we laugh, I ask about their world and do not care what it looks like from the outside. I love the dying, those killing themselves slowly, I love them all, because if I do not, who else will? I don’t need an addict to be in recovery to love them, to suit my ideal perspective. I love them when they are the walking dead, I love them when they are high, hungover or injecting, I love them because they are deserving of the light, for it shows them a way to turn, instead of pressing on into the darkness.

I cannot save them, my knowledge and realistic mindset is not so shallow as to think that, plus, I tried harder than most to save my sister, but alas, she now sits in a secure mental health facility, having gone further into the darkness than my fears ever made space to believe possible. How do I love her now? With clear boundaries that enable her to see that I am still here loving her, but with love for myself at the centre, which means she doesn’t get to hurt me, which in turn, protects her too, since hurting me still somehow hurts her. By staying safe, I keep her safe too, for she moved too far away from my world, she lives in another reality, a place I cannot fathom nor reason, but I can still love her from where I stand – in the light.

Loving her brings me peace, because until the day she dies, or I do, I can find contentment in knowing that for every single time she suffered, so too, did I, but that I never, not once, allowed that to mean that she was undeserving of my love. Praying for her to return is a fools errand now, since nobody comes back from her kind of hell, not untouched by the experiences lived anyhow, but when she does return, from whichever corners of hell she visited, I will be here, just standing still, with a hug in my arms, a hot meal on the table, and a lifetime of love, forgiveness and faith. She is my sister, we rode bikes, shared a bedroom, laughed until our stomachs hurt, and nothing could ever make me not love her – exactly as she arrives at my door. Which is the same way I will receive all of those to arrive at this platform, with compassionate comprehension of my powerlessness, and of a person’s need for wholistic, remedial and unconditional Love.