I flick my lighter three times. . .

I flick my lighter three times and pull the half-smoked Newport out from behind my ear. In between nodding off, I bring the flame to the tip of my cigarette, and if only for an instant, everything seemed right in my world. When I would use, my addiction would tell me all sorts of lies like this. Heroin was that peaceful silence in the dead of night after a massive snow storm. Heroin was that calming smell of a summertime rainstorm. Heroin was that picturesque view of a shoreline sunrise that appears frozen in time. Heroin was that feeling of pure joy that one can only experience as a child on Christmas morning. None of it was real. It was all just smoke and mirrors fed to me by my disease. My addiction was the tense sound of a New York City construction site on a busy day. I had beeping horns and jackhammers in my head all day long. My addiction was the anxious smell of a stale room on the tough side of town. My addiction was the dim lit alley way that only drums up negative feelings and emotions. My addiction was the feeling of pure despair that one can only experience after losing everything and everyone in their life. Addiction is great at using slight of hand to convince us we are in control. It can manipulate and connive us in ways that turn us against ourselves and everyone around us. Let someone help you see things for what they truly are until you can see it for yourself.

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