A Conversation With Addiction

Reading Time: 1min

Many people have their theories about addiction. Some argue it’s a choice, a path willingly taken and easily abandoned. The more religious insist it’s demonic, a spiritual flaw rather than a human struggle. But for me, addiction feels like a force. A dark, looming presence that shadows your life long before you recognize its shape. It never announces itself dramatically. It arrives softly, disguised as comfort. It begins as a feel-good escape; a moment of relief, a familiar warmth. A place to breathe. Then slowly, quietly, it becomes a habit. And somewhere along the line, almost without noticing, the habit becomes the force. The same force that pulls you back to it over and over, whispering like an old friend, “Don’t leave me.”

But you start to wonder: What kind of friend holds you hostage?
Because the real ones don’t clip your wings. They don’t drain you. They don’t leave you empty, hopeless, or void, at least not the ones I know.

Addiction consumes you in ways you don’t see until you’re already drowning. We glamorize it sometimes; the high, the thrill, the wild stories. We paint it as rebellion, freedom, even fun. But beneath the surface, the truth stays unchanged: it’s a trap. A cycle so familiar you can navigate it with your eyes closed.

And even when you think you’ve outrun it, there’s always a trigger. A memory. A bad day. A quiet moment. A voice calling you back to the place you once called refuge, urging you to stay in the darkness you already know.

The deep, addictive rhythm of addiction is, ironically, addictive. The rush, the euphoria, the temporary relief always leaves you wanting more. It’s always one last pill, one more bottle, one final time. But it’s never really the last.

So the real question becomes:
Is freedom from addiction something we walk toward, or something we have to re-choose every day?
And more personally:
Will I ever be free?