The Broken Way

They say misery loves company and I think that's true enough.  They also say like attracts like.  Also true. 

We Broken Ones always find a way to each other and we navigate the twists and turns the best we can.  We try to be supporters without being enablers and usually fail terribly at this.  But we try. 

We're all Broken in different ways, you see, but we all tend to react the same, don't we? The secret to our addiction isn't the thing we're addicted to, but whatever drove us to self-medicate in the first place.  In some cases, that driving force is so brutal and ugly that facing it feels like literal death. Some face that specter and overcome.  But some just can't. 

So, what to do? I keep a list of resources.  Shelters, suicide hotlines, poison control, the local police station, etc.  I reach out, check in, ask if I can, how I can help. I don't drink with my alcoholic friends.  I don't do drugs with my drug addicted friends.  I don't sleep with my sad friends or try to bully anyone into rehab because it only works if they want to go there.  

I try to walk the line. We all do. 

And when a friend falls into the void, I blame myself, kick myself, wonder why I couldn't fix the Broken in them.  Even though I know better.  That's a form of hubris, I've come to realize. It's not our job to heal others, only to ease their way and comfort them on their journey.

We do not author their story, only have a supporting role.  It's horrible and sad that they fell away, but it's also not about us.  Losing them, mourning them, honoring them, carrying their light on for them, those things are the risk and responsibilities of love.  Those are the cost of the good stuff.  It's a price worth paying, I think, but, oh my lord does it hurt. 

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