Addicted

I don’t know what my problem is. There is something about me. Or something about them. Addicts, that is. I have been realizing it this weekend, incredibly. Everyone close to me in my life, besides my family, is an addict. Literally everyone. There is Rae and there is S, and there is Chris. Those are the three people closest to me right now.

Rae had a horrible childhood. She was in the drug scene as a teenager to the extent of almost unbelievability. And now, she is no longer in that life style, so while she may not be addicted to anything anymore (besides going to the bars every weekend and getting wasted), she was in the drug field.

Then there is S. Drug and alcohol addict. A week in recovery. Who knows how long it will last.

Chris – my husband. Drugs are his poison of choice. Recovering now for almost eight months. His life was much like Rae’s. So involved in the drug scene – I do not understand it.

So what is about me? Or what is it about them? What attracts me to them? Or them to me? I am addicted to addicts. That is my addiction.

Is it my innate need to cure? To comfort? To take care of all helpless things? My love for animals is a passionate part of me; could it be that it is because they, too, need someone to look out for them? Is that why I am the way I am? Is that why Social Work is my profession? Because I need to care for those who can’t care for themselves?

Let me fix you and protect you and show you someone loves you and is there for you. Let me show you that someone will always be there – dependable and reliable and responsible to the point of being flawed. To the point that someone can run over me and leave me crippled.

It’s an interesting viewpoint – one I may have addressed before. But this weekend more than ever did it become clear to me. It was a weekend filled with Rae and S and Chris and all things addicty, conversational and otherwise, and that is what I concluded. That I’m addicted to addicts.