The first one is hardly readable beyond the first sentence. It seems to be a meth-induced stream of half conscious drivel. Something about demons and being re-born, then the rest in unintelligible. I know this one's from an addict because it doesn't make sense.
Another is from a frantic mother. As most of them are. The women around us addicts are the ones who nurture and try to help us. And her words are intense and pleading. She doesn't know what to do. He's living with a friend who wants his couch back. So he'll be homeless. No money, car, or job. Can we help? I tell her to send him to us if he's willing to come and we'll do what we do. We'll see if he shows up or not.
And there are others that only leave a phone number. I call back but no answer - so I leave messages. The phone calls rarely work out because by the time I get back to them they're at a different number. Or maybe they found a bag of dope and changed their mind.
I used to let this stream of emotion weigh me down. Sometimes I'd wake at night wondering what happened. Did they get help somewhere else? Did they overdose? Maybe they were arrested.
Today I accept that there are plenty of suffering addicts in the world. And we can't help them all.
Our only job is to be here for the ones who want to change.
