Although yesterday wore on me because it overflowed with addict drama, it ended on a good note.
Because at the last minute I had a reminder of how life could have been had I not found recovery.
It happened as I was leaving my office to go home. A face from the past appeared in the doorway - a man who'd spent most of the past 24 years in prison for drug offenses.
And I'd like to say we had a constructive conversation. But it wasn't like that. Oh, there was a conversation. But mostly the conversation was a stream of consciousness with him talking to himself.
Once in a while I might wedge in a word. And that would send him off on a new tangent about something 15 years ago that he found very interesting. Or a fantasy about what he might do tomorrow.
And though I'm patient, I finally told him that talking to him was frustrating me.
And to my surprise he agreed. Others told him the same thing. Then I suggested that life might be better if he found a medication to slow down his racing thoughts. He said he was trying to see a doctor.
As I drove home I was grateful to God for my life of recovery. A life that my visitor has never been able to grasp.
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