My favorite Beatles song was Happiness is a Warm Gun.

I would listen to it as I got high, always thinking that it was the perfect metaphor. Hit after delicious hit from my bright orange bubbler, affectionately named Sunny Delight.  But it isn’t the perfect metaphor.

Being an addict is more like drinking a cool glass of anti-freeze. It tastes sweet and goes down easy. It is odorless, colorless and oh-so toxic. Before you realize what you have done, it is all over.

I am an addict.

I was raised by addicts.

This cycle is so rigid, like steel girders that hold up the sky.

It is ruthless in it’s selection. Smart, funny, beautiful, kind, it doesn’t matter who you are.

My best friends and constant companions for a decade; marijuana, LSD, Xanax, X, opium, and shrooms never let me down or made me feel less than me.

I felt more like me. Smarter, funnier, prettier.

But it was an illusion.

Those chemical induced rose-colored glasses never healed me from the psychological scars of being raised by addicts. I don’t think anything can really heal those wounds, but they can begin to knit together with love, compassion and self-acceptance.

Poison is poison. It doesn’t matter what it is; food, sex, men, drugs, alcohol, power, or victim-hood.

Acceptance has been the hardest thing, seeing myself, in truth, hurts, but it also heals.

Knowing your worth and owning the darkness hurts, but it also heals.

Love heals.

So All You Need is Love is my new favorite Beatles song.

 

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Author: Bria Luu

Editor: Bria Luu

Photo: Scarabuss