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Like many people today, I suffer perpetually with addiction. What is addiction, you may ask. Well, Addiction is the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma. In varying degrees, we all have our vices which victimize us with an unrelenting spell. The end result is usually addiction. I remember the day when I was first overcome by the intoxicating aroma of pleasure and sin. It has led to some of my best and, conversely, worst of times. Also, it began a gradual evolution of vices and a chronological study of their effects on my life. Writing was the obvious choice as a medium by which to record my study. Little did I know that from a humble beginning, feelings of want to would culminate in feelings of have to. My writing grew from an exercise into a need and finally it became it became an obsession. Simply put, now I not only write what I live, but I live to write. I feel compelled to write, on a daily basis, in order to tame the beast. The struggle with addiction is real, to the extent that all waking hours become an everyday battle. Life is most raw when you’re under the microscope that accompanies an addiction. At one’s lowest point, tomorrow is often seen as a beacon of light upon which to wish. As, each new day allows for the possibility of positive choice and change. By definition, I am an addict, but it’s okay; because after sex, drugs and all the other vices begat the poet, herein lies the writing.
