Every Monday morning she cries
Every Monday morning she cries
Just let me sleep a little more momma.
I don’t want to wake up; I don’t want to face it,
I don’t want to start the cycle all over again.
But she drags herself up, wretched and empty,
Another cigarette, another coffee, and it starts all over again anyway.
I’m gonna look for a job this afternoon Momma,
Will you watch her ‘til I get back?
Please Momma I’m really trying
this time.
And she really means it. She prays to God,
but she doesn’t know what to ask for---
Take this longing from me; take this desire for drugs, God,
Take it away from me, I don’t want anymore.
I hate myself god why did you make me like this.
When she thinks about smoking crack cocaine now, she feels
horrible, empty, useless…a wretched dry heave, barely human.
“I’ll never do that stuff again”
but in the back of her mind, she remembers last weekend
when she said the same thing. Again.
And the week goes by; she cleans herself up and looks for work.
Plays with her daughter (I love you momma, where did you go last night?)
She can put the evil out of her mind for a while, she has to.
It is bigger than she is, bigger than the world, too big to get her mind around.
So she pretends it will be different this weekend.
She’s not thinking about the aching void inside of her, not thinking about
How little she cares, how little she feels anymore,
Life is all just a grey empty blah anymore, meaningless, pointless.
Until she smokes. Then it all makes sense for a few minutes.
To her mother, her daughter, to society
Cocaine looks like the problem.
On Monday morning she sees it too, it is the problem.
But by Thursday she’s aching again, a slow growing, gnawing insistence
grows in the back of her mind, in the center of her heart. And cocaine looks like
the answer to a thousand questions.
I’ll just drink a beer to take the edge off
Just one or two, I just want one or two
I just want one
Just one
hit
Just…
(sigh)
And every Monday morning she cries again.
Dave Seward
February 2005
This is dedicated to the memory of a client I can’t name because we as a society are too ashamed of our addictions to even identify its victims.
She died of her addiction in the fall of 2004. She was in her thirties.
But we recovering people don’t need to be faceless, nameless people any more.
My name is Dave Seward and I am recovering from drug addiction and alcoholism.
Has a person you love struggled with addiction?
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