• Past Articles

The Anonymous contributor represents a group of people who wish to withhold their full identity. Their work will be identified at the end of their articles using first name and an initial.

Addiction from a Friends Point of View

  I didn’t realize it at first, but I’m sure it was there. After countless days of coming home to them passed out on the couch, after so many bright mornings lost to drunken tirades, after so many little moments turn into major splinters, you slowly see what has been creeping in that dark space for what it is: the feeling of powerlessness. I felt it when I called her thirty times after midnight. Her last text expressed a desire for relief through suicide. I felt it every time I spoke with them and the person I loved was lost from their face, their voice, their movements. I saw it in my friend when their father demanded respect but dealt disrespect — lying to their family, lying to family friends, lying to himself. Every lie he told was just one more brick in the wall, a wall being built around… Continue reading

I Woke Up – By Emily

  I woke up. Breathing tube in my nose, nurses and my mom and dad standing around me, my skin on fire. “Where am I?” I screamed. “Calm down, you overdosed,” said the nurses. “We gave you Narcan and we need you to calm down. Your pulse is too high.” I looked over at the monitor. My pulse was 152. The nurse gave me a shot of Ativan in my IV. I started to calm down even though it still felt like my skin was melting off my bones. “Breathe in and out,” the nurse said. If I hadn’t been taken to the hospital I would’ve died. My breathing had slowed down so much I need a breathing tube. I soon became very sleepy and passed out. I can’t remember much except walking into my dad’s backyard to my neighbors screaming, “Get the fuck out of here, Grace!” “We’re calling… Continue reading

Beneath Tears, Sorrow, Frustration & Pain My Sonnet Hides – Cassandra Smith

  Tear soaked eyes blind me, pushing through; I attempt to write a sonnet. My frantically beating heart emits gratitude – Shakespeare isn’t here to witness bleeding bodies run for cover, scatter to the ground falling on it Screaming, mass confusion – festive country music morphing into fear No, love songs are not on my mind, in my head – acrid smoke kills oxygen Police personal – leading frightened people to safety again and again Bullets whizzing overhead hit targets, paying no attention to different dialect A mystery – no racial, cultural, or religious bias – no barriers to deflect Flowers still bloom, birds still fly, carrying olive branches preparing to sing Lady Liberty clutches her heart and waves our flag – Red, White & Blue Apologetic church bells gong, calling out for peace with an earsplitting ring A man, a gun shop, ammunition, automatic rifles, point at him, her,… Continue reading

One of the precious gifts of sobriety is a grandchild who never saw you drunk – By Cassandra Smith

  Precious, Precocious, Lyric Running, rushing, reaching up, giggling & smiling like- an angel Pushing her love in, touching every nook & cranny of my heart  Eyes lighting up like- fireflies sweeping through dark night Clinging, holding on, wrapping chubby arms around my legs  Refusing, daring even mommy- to separate us/pull us apart     * Two years ago, a tiny infant- soft, soft, skin/ baby face pressing against My breast- baby oil & baby powder, intermingling like dancers Drooping eye lids, tiny head falling, jerking up, falling again Dismissing sleep without her music-video music/ only Bruno Mars Playing piano & singing her favorite song “When I Was Your Man.”       * Lyric- sitting like a princess, surrounded by balloons-crown on her Head -eyes roaming /birthday cake, party favors, lots of kids with presents  Eyes sparkling, smiling wider than ever. Singing, “Happy Birthday to me.” Blowing out candles… Continue reading

It Works, It really Does!

Despite my white knuckling, I have somehow managed to get fourteen months free of drinking and drugging under my belt. I went to rehab not knowing anything about A.A or that it would even be a part of my treatment. I still remember my first meeting and the relief I felt at not being alone in my problem. That feeling lasted for a little while. The truth was though, that I wasn’t ready yet for a different life. That fact became apparent after over a year “dry” and in a bad relapse. I believed that by reaching out and asking for help I would be somehow bothering people.  Being in a year-long abusive relationship added to my feelings of unworthiness – an all too familiar reality inside the walls of domestic chaos. Finally I had found a sponsor and was going to at least a meeting a day in addition… Continue reading