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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Abandoned

Fighting an addiction is hard and sometimes you just need a little help to make it.

Lydia showed up early like she had been for the last eleven weeks and help set up for the meeting. Joe appreciated the help, it was a labor of love setting up for these meetings, but it also was a lot for one man to do alone. He set up the chairs as the hunched shoulder woman with the stringy brown hair brewed the coffee and put out the donuts. Joe didn’t try to talk to her, he had the first couple of times, but she had just become withdrawn. He had hoped given time she would come out of her shell and tell her story, but that hadn’t worked, so tonight he would push her and hope to help her finally speak.

The members of the group started flirting in, thirty drug addicts coming together to support and help each other. They came from all walks of life, from a panhandler to a lawyer, they came to talk about their addiction. Sometimes they asked for help when it got tough and the group came together to give it. Joe hoped that tonight would be no different.

As the last member found a seat Joe approached the podium. His hands shook because he was about to push a member and he knew there was a chance that it would end badly.

“Hi, my name is Joe and I’m an addict.”

“Hi Joe,” the group answered back.

“Normally we have open discussion to talk about things that have pushed us this week to slip, but I want to start things off different tonight. I want to have a member come up and share their story. Only one member of this group has never shared, never opened up and I think it would help her a lot if she did. Lydia will you please share tonight.”

Lydia lifted her head and looked at Joe from the back row of chairs. Her body shook as she stared at him then her eyes darted to the doors as if looking for an escape.

The young black man beside her patted her shoulder. “Sharing will lighten your burden.”

A suburban housewife looked back at her and smiled and nodded.

One after another the group came together to encourage her to speak.

Slowly she stood up and walked up the aisle to the podium.

Standing there she dropped her head and mumbled softly.

“It is ok Lydia take your time.”

She slowly breathed and then she lifted


“Hi, my name is Lydia and I’m an addict.”

The plain looking young woman with the stringy brown hair at the podium brushed her hair from out of her face as she waited as the other members of the group gave the standard response.

“My mother was an addict, but I make no judgements about her. She died when I was six, in a truck stop restroom with a needle in her arm, so I really don’t know much about her life. I went into foster care and part of me thinks if I had just been a little luckier, I would not have turned out this way. A good home in suburbs with a loving foster family could have made all the difference. I ended up being shuffled from one bad home to another in the inner-city.”

She watched the group, seeing many nodding as if to say they know what she was saying.

“Physical, mental and sexual abuse were a large part of my childhood. My first taste was when I was fourteen. My foster parents at the time were not the nicest people. I felt so powerless and helpless to stop them. This one little thing and I felt good, I felt like I could stand up to them and force them to stop hurting me. That feeling didn’t last and when I came crashing down it was worse than it ever was.”

Many of the group licked their lips as memories of their first time came rushing back. They could all remember that feeling they had chased for years before the addiction finally caught up with them and they ended up here.

“After that first time I resisted I knew it was wrong, so I tried to stop, but the feeling. The craving, the desire for that feeling was what drove me to do it again. It was good, but not as good as the first time. I needed more, I needed something to make that feeling last longer.”

Some of the group were slumping in their seats as she droned on.

“I learned to lie and hide the evidence of my addiction. I was very good at that, nobody suspected a thing, but the more I feed it the more it wanted. By the time I turned eighteen my addiction was almost out of control. I was seeking that feeling out two or three times a day and some people noticed little things.”

A man in the back began to foam at the mouth, but the rest of the group didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

“That is when I couldn’t deny it any longer, I was an addict. I would spend my nights wandering the streets looking for a fix and my days trying to hide the evidence of my addiction from those close to me. I held on as long as I could, but finally I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. The police showed up at my apartment looking for me, but I got lucky and wasn’t there. My name and picture made the nightly news as the evidence of my addiction was dug up in a dirt lot.”

“I really hope you all forgive me, but soon you will no longer have that craving clawing at your guts. You will all have gone onto a better place and you will have help feed my addiction.”

Lydia stepped away from the podium and slowly walked towards the back looking into the paralyzed faces of her latest victims. She hadn’t lied, she was an addict, only her drug was murder and it now took a room full of victims to get that high. This meeting would help her go a few days a week before she felt that urge again, so NA did help.


Submitted: January 07, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Gypsy Rose. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Danni Lee

wow, what a story, and I loved it. Well done.

Sun, January 10th, 2021 11:36am

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