A letter from a drug addict to her newborn daughter

July 27th, 2006

Dear newborn daughter:

I have felt you move inside me.  I have heard your first cry.  I have kissed your soft face.  I have nursed you. I have counted all of your fingers and toes.  I have examined your entire body.  I have stared at you for hours.  I have refused to let the nurses take you away so that I can sleep.  Those nurses surprise me by dressing you in all of the little outfits I have brought with me to the hospital.  Those nurses tell me how relieving it is to watch a baby go home to such a good family.  Those nurses tell me that I am an amazing mother.  Those nurses cannot see the future.  But, I have.  And there are some things I need to tell you.

I love you. 

Right now, in this moment, there is nothing in this world I could possibly love more.

Right now, in this moment, your needs are the only things that matter.

Right now, in this moment, I would do anything in the world for you.

But, one day, all of that is going to change.  Slowly.  Over time.

And, honestly, it will surprise me as much as it does you.

One day, I am going to pick up a pill. 

And I am going to fall in love with it.

One day, I will take those pills, and then I will nurse you. 

One day, your pediatrician will tell me that I need to choose between taking those pills and nursing you, and I will abruptly wean you.  I will choose the pills over you.  And you will be devastated.  Inconsolable. 

One day, I won't wake up when you cry.

One day, you will sit in a dirty diaper longer than you should.

One day, you will cry because you are hungry and I will wait too long to feed you.

One day, I will stop reading you bedtime stories.

One day, the lullabies will cease.

One day, I will let the television put you to sleep.

One day, you will get hurt in my care.

One day, you will wonder outside, alone, while I am in bed passed out.

One day, you will look to me to show me something new that you have learned, and I will be in another world.

One day, I will put you in a vehicle and drive around with you, knowing full well that I am risking your life. 

One day, you will look out the window at the other families outside playing, and you will wonder why we never do the same.

One day, I will drink your medicine.  The medicine you need. 

One day, my desires will turn into needs, and they will matter more than yours.

One day, I will deserve to have you taken from me.

One day, I will steal money out of your piggy bank to buy pills.

One day, I will miss the pre-kindergarten luau, and you will be the only one there with no mommy.

One day, I will show up late for Moms and Muffins.  You will be so glad that I am there, but so sad that I missed the songs.  You will be so disappointed that your teacher will have the entire class sing the songs again so that you can sing to me. 

One day, I will ignore you.  I will just want you to go to sleep so that I can do my thing.

One day, you will want to cuddle/rock/play/sing/read/dance/talk, and I won't have make time for it. 

One day, you will deserve a different mother.  One who deserves you.

One day, I will pack my bags and leave without telling you good-bye.

One day, I will come back home and act as if nothing ever happened.

One day, I will leave again.  This time, I will tell you.  You will be devastated.  Inconsolable.

One day, your innocent ears will hear the words, "Mommy had to go away again because Mommy is a drug addict."  You will fight with everything inside of you to not believe that.  You think Mommy is perfect. 

One day, I will try to rock you to sleep and sing to you.  You will ask me to stop singing, as my songs now only bring tears.

One day, your daddy will kick me out.  

One day, you and I will only spend weekends together.

But, one day, somewhere along the way, I will vow that there will be no more "one days" like those.

I will fight like hell to make sure they don't come again. 

I will mess up....over and over and over again.  But, I will not give up.  Because I know that one day I will get it. 

And, our life will begin again.  You will be like a newborn baby, and I like a new mom.  We will get to know one another again.  You will hold my hand while we are driving.  On the days when all I can think about is the regret I have for ruining your life, you will have an endless flow of stories to tell.  Of happy memories.  Of times that make me sound like I was a good mommy.  You will barely remember the bad.  You will choose to remember the good.

One day, despite the fact that I have repeatedly broken your heart, you will tell me that I am your best friend.  You will want to be with me every second of the day.  You will choose to spend time with me above anything else.

You will grow into the kindest, most compassionate child I will ever meet....despite all of the mistakes that I will make.  You will amaze everyone with the heart for others that you will have. 

You will teach me what life is all about.  Just as I have given you life, you will help me get mine back.

One day, on your tenth birthday, you will wake up.  And I will be here.  Really here.  And I will fix you breakfast.  And we will spend the morning together.  And then I will leave for a short time to go to a "meeting" because that's our life now.  That's what keeps us together.  One day, I will make it, sweet daughter.  One day, we will make it.

Precious newborn daughter, I am sorry.  I am sorry that your innocence will be stripped away from you at such a young age. I am sorry for the days you are going to face...for all of the days you will have to face without me.  I am sorry for all the tears, worry, anger, loneliness, and sadness that will come because of my choices.  If I could change them right now, please know that I would. 

I love you more than the world.  Sadly, I will one day forget that. 

But, don't you worry. 

One day, I will remember it again. 

And, one day......I will never forget it. 

Happy 10th Birthday, Addalyn Faith.  There is no other child like you in the entire world.  If I could have dreamed you into existence, you would be no different than you are today.  You make me want to be a better person.  I love you, sweet girl. 

Click here to read about the day my husband became a single father.



Pull up a chair and let me tell you a little secret

Pull up a chair and let me tell you a little secret.  Are you ready?

Sometimes this is hard.  All of it. 

The being honest.

The being transparent.

The "putting it all out there". 

The taking the mask off.

The letting people know I don't have it all together.

It's hard.

The facing the hurt I've caused others.

The working on putting my family back together.

The doing what God (my higher power) calls me to do.

It's hard.

The accepting who I am. 

It's hard.

The not caring if others accept me.

It's super hard.

For as long as I can remember, I have cared more than I should about what others think.  And, just when I think that I've come pretty far in that area, something happens to remind me that I've still got a little too much pride left in me.

I told you several months back that I was struggling.  What I didn't tell you was that I ended up signing up for a twelve-month outpatient program.  I receive counseling 1-2 days per week, group 2-3 days per week, and drug screening 3 days per week.  I have completely fallen in love with the people there (my counselor, the staff, and other clients) and it has already proven to be exactly what I need. 

Anyway,  my drug screening schedule is Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday.  Last Saturday, my church participated in a nationwide event known as Serve Day.  We met at a huge stadium in our town, then departed for our separate group projects.  I ran a couple of errands in town and killed some time before the lab at the outpatient place opened. 

At a few minutes 'til 10, I approached the outpatient building, and I noticed people.  Lots of people.  And they were wearing red shirts.  The same red shirt that I was wearing.   The shirt that said this on the front.



No.  It couldn't be. 

But, yes.  There they were. 

There were people standing in the road holding signs.  I turned into the parking lot, and it was full of red shirts.  There was a tent set up, and they were giving free haircuts.  Nice concept, but I sure wish they would have chosen somewhere else.  I parked my car, turned the ignition off, then just sat there for a minute.  What should I do?  Should I just put my car in reverse and leave.....or would that be more noticeable?  I knew that I would never have time to leave and then come back to screen, and if I didn't screen, I could get penalized.  What to do.....

I was afraid the group that was there serving might think I was there to serve as well.  How would I tell them that I was actually there to pee in a cup to verify that I had not done any drugs in the last two days??  Wait....maybe I would just act like I was there to help. Not a bad idea.

I finally put my pride in the glove box, grabbed my papers, and got out of my car.  I didn't make eye contact with anyone.  I finally made it through the parking lot and into the front door.  I expected to find relief once I was safe inside.  Instead, I found about twenty more volunteers from my church inside painting!  What is it with these people wanting to be so nice and helpful?!  I, once again, didn't make eye contact and headed straight back to the lab.  I peeked my head in the door and saw a familiar face that made me feel better.  I pointed to my red Serve Day shirt I was wearing, and said, "I'm not here to serve....I'm here to screen."  He quickly told me to come into the lab, and they made the screening process as quick and painless as possible.  I walked out the door, straight to my vehicle, and high-tailed it out of that parking lot.  I'm sure the group that was serving there thinks I'm an antisocial lunatic (I kind of am), but that's beside the point.

I told you that story to tell you this.  (Woah...I totally just sounded like my preacher Dad). 
Telling all of these things about myself is hard.  I do not take pride in the things that I've done, and I don't write about them to brag. Believe me, I wish I had a blog that focused on home décor, makeup, or fashion.  Or memes.  Yes.  I love memes.  Honestly, I do not find enjoyment in exposing my deepest, darkest secrets.  What I find enjoyment in is knowing that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  I find enjoyment when I read the e-mail that essentially says, "Me too."  That's what makes it worth it.  What makes it bearable to be so exposed. 

Last night, I sat in a circle of some of the most beautiful people I know.  We talked about addiction.  About life.  About our struggles.  And the topic came up of staying hidden, of not disclosing that we are addicts/alcoholics.  Of keeping our struggle a secret. 

There was a time when that was all I wanted.  I wanted to be known as a stay-at-home PTO mom, a wife, a singer, a business owner, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I didn't want anyone to know the real me.  But, there came a time when that was no longer possible.  When the cat that I refused to let out of the bag eventually clawed his way out.  And at first I was mortified that people knew.  I lost some friends along the way.  I received some judgmental glances.  I had some awkward encounters. And then, at some point that I don't even remember, I started being okay with who I was.  With people knowing the real me.  And what I thought would be the most horrifying feeling in the whole world turned out to be one of the most freeing. 

You see, I don't think that it was that I finally believed that others accepted who I was.

It was, I believe, that I finally accepted who I am. 

I am a stay-at-home mom....who struggles with drug addiction.

I am a wife....who struggles with drug addiction.

I am a singer....who struggles with drug addiction.

I am the wife of a business owner....who struggles with drug addiction.

I am a daughter...who struggles with drug addiction.

I am a sister...who struggles with drug addiction.

I am a friend...who struggles with drug addiction. 

I am me, Misty Monroe, and I struggle with drug addiction. 

And I'm okay with that. 


So, even on the days when my pride tries to rear its ugly head and embarrassment threatens to overtake me, in the end I am still okay with who I am. 

I still accept it. 

And you want to know a secret?
 
As hard as it sometimes is to be exposed, I never want to go back into hiding again. 

Because, after all, you know what they say.....secrets make you sick. 

Hiding your hurt only intensifies it. 

Problems grow in the dark and become bigger and bigger,

but when exposed to the light of truth, they shrink.

You are only as sick as your secrets.

So take off your mask,

stop pretending you're perfect,

and walk into freedom.

-Author Unknown

We don't all survive

   Last night, my youngest daughter, Addalyn, and I went to a late movie.  During the movie, she moved the armrest, covered up with her blanket that she brought with her, and cuddled up next to me.  I thought to myself that there was no greater feeling in the world, and I just sat and basked in the gratitude of being with her. 

   On the way home, we had to make a pit-stop at Wal-Mart.  Yes, it was nearly midnight, but I needed bleach.  I had a load of whites waiting for it.  I walked through the bleach aisle trying to decide if I wanted bleach tablets, regular liquid bleach, or the gel kind.  I've tried all three, but I haven't really committed to a certain one.  Anyway, as I tried to make my decision, my phone dinged.  It was a familiar sound...the Facebook messenger notification.  I reached into my purse, thinking that it was possibly a friend I had just been talking to, or my sister and sister-in-law with a hilarious story to tell me.  I turned my phone on, held my finger to the sensor on the back to unlock it, and saw that it was from a girl I was in treatment with.  We check up on each other from time to time, so I wasn't surprised when I saw her name.  I opened up the message and suddenly bleach no longer mattered.

  "We lost another sister today," it said.  And I read the name.  And the room started spinning.  And the tears started flowing.  In the Wal-Mart bleach aisle.  That message is one that I dread receiving.  We've lost another one.  This makes three now.  Three ladies....sisters....friends that I lived with for months.  Three women with family and friends who desperately loved them.  Three women who tried with everything inside of them to beat this evil beast. 

   This one hit me hard.  You see, this friend and I shared a room. She slept on the bottom bunk right beside mine.  I was bed 4, she was bed 6.  She came in only two days after me, so we spent 98 nights falling asleep beside each other.  98 mornings waking up beside each other.  98 times of me waiting until she fell asleep to go turn out the shower room light, because she was afraid of the dark.  98 mornings of watching her sneak an extra cup of coffee. 

   She was strong.  Tough.  She tried to play the unemotional type.  But, in our room at night, I got to know the real her.  I listened to her cry about her marriage ending.  I listened to her cry about the hurt she had caused her two little girls.  I listened to her talk of a tragic crime that had been committed against her, and I watched her work on forgiving that person.  And some nights I laid there in pure amazement that someone so tough could be scared of the dark. 

    I will never forget helping her pick out her outfits and fixing her hair.  I would be sitting in the group room in the morning journaling and reading my morning devotions, and she would walk in the room with her teasing comb and hairspray.  She didn't even have to ask anymore.  It was a given that I would fix her hair.  And I loved to watch her face as she looked in the mirror afterward.  A smile always took over her self-conscious face. 

   Every time I see hand sanitizer, I will think of her. 
   Every time I make ranch chicken, I will think of her.

   I will never forget laughing hysterically with her.  I will never forget crying and praying with her when she finally came to the realization that her marriage would not be restored.  I will never forget her apologizing to all of us for a big mistake she made while in treatment.  I will never forget remaking her bed after she left the room, knowing that it would never pass inspection as the corners were not done correctly and you couldn't "bounce a quarter off of it."  I will never forget sitting across from her at breakfast one morning when our friend, Kathy, said something completely hilarious and I accidentally spit my coffee all over her face.  I will never forget her laughing instead of punching me.    I will never forget knowing that I didn't want to ever be in a fight against her!!  I will never forget how loud she snored and how much she talked in her sleep.  I will never forget her love for high heels.  I will never forget the body spray she wore that made my nose burn.  I will never forget that she could do a mean smoky eye.  I will never forget what a good cook she was.  I will never forget that one of the counselors called her by the wrong name and that she eventually just went with it.

  I will never forget her.

  This never gets easier.  It never makes sense. It never seems right....never seems fair.  But, addiction doesn't make sense.  Addiction is not right....not fair.  On a daily basis, I despise this evil monster.  But, some days, like today, I hate it more than I can even begin to tell you.  I hate that it steals mothers from their children; daughters from their mothers; wives from their husbands.  I hate that it steals us from ourselves. 

  You see, though...addiction does not care.  It has no remorse for what it does.  It doesn't care who you are or how hard you try to beat it.  It is cunning, relentless, selfish, controlling, and powerful.  It is the toughest demon you will ever have to fight. 

May we never forget how powerful it is. 

May we never let down our guards.  

May we never give up the fight. 


***To my sisters in recovery:  I love each and every one of you.  We may not see each other often or even talk to each other often, but please know that I think of you more often than not.  The bond we formed during one of the hardest times of our lives is something that can never be broken.  You all were there for me, and I hope you can say the same of me.  Know that I look at your pictures on Facebook.  That I smile when I see that you are doing well.  That I cry when I see that you are not.  Don't give up.  Don't let her death be in vain.  My prayer is that I will never again receive the message that I got last night.  Stay strong, girls.  We've got this.  Love you all.

What do you see when you look at an addict?

Stereotypes.  They are all around us, even when we want to pretend they no longer exist.  We judge people based on how they appear to us.  Pass an overweight woman on the street....she's lazy.  Pass a feminine man.....he's gay.  Pass a woman with worn out clothing and shoes....she's poor.  Pass someone with tattoos and piercings....he/she is rebellious.  Pass a man who is muscular and extremely fit.....he's on steroids.  Pass a person smoking with dark circles under far-away eyes, he/she is an addict.  Let's face it.  Stereotyping and judging have become second nature to us humans.  I am just as guilty as the next person.  And not only do we categorize certain groups of people, most of the time we deem them as worthless....we place a decreased value on their lives.

Sadly, this is especially true for drug addicts.

If you ever want to lose the tendency to stereotype/judge, immerse yourself in a group of people whom you think you are different from.  Learn about them.  Listen to them.  Close your eyes and open your heart.  It's a guarantee that you will see them differently; that you will see yourself differently.  That's what happened to me.

You see a girl walking down the street.  A big round belly protrudes from her much too small t-shirt.  She carries a pack of cigarettes in one hand.  She looks rough. You stare.  You judge.  You wonder why God would give her a baby.  You wonder how long it will take for her to lose it or give it up.  You feel sorry for the unborn baby.  I sit in a circle with her.  I don't know her, but I watch her.  I watch her rub her belly....gently, mindlessly, lovingly.  I listen to her talk of her struggles.  She knows that she still has a long way to go to be the mother that she wants to be....many more changes to make.  But, she has come so far.  She has given up so much already.  I listen to her talk about the life she wants to give this baby.  How she wants him to have what she never had.  I see the love she already has for her child, and I wish I could convince you that there is no reason to feel sorry for him, for he is being born to a warrior.

He walks by your car and you lock the doors. He is covered in tattoos and years of trouble have hardened and aged his face.  He stands behind you in line and you tighten your grip on your purse.  You are certain that he is a criminal, and you think you (or the entire store) are about to get robbed. I sit in a room with him.  His time in prison, behind bars, has made him wise beyond his years.  He offers truth, hope, and experience to anyone he talks to.  He speaks with compassion in his voice and kindness in his eyes.  Helping others has become his sole purpose in life.  He doesn't want others to make the same mistakes that he has made.  When he speaks, people listen. He looks at a woman who still thinks that she is a different kind of drug addict, that she is still somehow "better", and gives her the reality check she has been long overdue for.  However, he does it in such a way that all she can do is thank him, and he extends his tattoo-covered arms and embraces her.  She will never forget his words, for they have changed her life.

You see him walking down the street.  He is wearing a wig, make-up, high heels, and a dress.  You gawk at him and condemn him.  I walk into a room full of recovering addicts and he is the first one to speak to me.  He is the first one to make me smile; the first one to make me feel welcomed and accepted.  He opens my eyes and my heart.  And I realize, I don't have to understand him, I just have to love him. 

You see a woman who has given up or lost her children.  You think that she is scum.  You don't understand how someone could choose drugs over her kids.  Well, neither does she.  Neither do I, yet I look at her and realize that I, too, should have lost my children.  I watch her work her recovery harder than nearly anyone else, because she has more at stake than nearly anyone else.  She has gotten clean, is staying clean, and is rebuilding her life.  I listen to the pain in her voice as she talks about her children, about the years lost, about the mistakes made.  But, then I hear the determination take over, and it becomes obvious that she will turn things around, that she will make things right, that her family will be restored.  She will not go down without a fight.

You and I look at addicts completely differently. 
Perhaps it is because you are looking from the outside in, while I am looking from the inside out. 

You couldn't possibly be any more different from them.  I am the same as them.
You are afraid of what they will take from you.  I thrive on what I receive from them (experience, strength, and hope).
You stay as far away from them as possible.  I exchange numbers with them.  I become friends with them.
You see perpetrators.  I see people who have been victims of more injustices than you could ever fathom. 
You think they are bad.  I see more goodness and kindness in the few hours I spend with them than I do the remainder of the week.
You dare not touch them.  I hold their hands as we recite the Lord's Prayer.
You think they are a burden to society.  I watch them make amends and relentlessly give back. 
You think they are liars.  I hear more honesty from their mouths than most people can handle.
You think they are weak.  I know that they are the strongest people I will ever have the privilege of meeting. 

You look at them and see a group of bad, dishonest, weak, burdensome, worthless, hopeless people.  I look at them and see something completely different.  I see MY people.  And, at this point in my life, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

**It is possible to change the lens through which we look at others.  It is possible to become educated about the struggles others go through.  It is possible to love them even though we don't understand or agree with what they are doing.  The thing is, feeling judged never caused a person to desire to change in a positive way.  But, you know what?  Feeling loved is the greatest motivator there ever was.  I think it's time that love became our driving force.  How about you?


Disclaimer:  I realize that not everyone stereotypes or judges addicts.  My writing here is based on the general consensus of how addiction/addicts are viewed in our society as a whole).  If you are in the group who pursues understanding and compassion rather than judgment, thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

To read about why I have been called an unlikely addict, click here.

What is freedom?



 

Freedom is clear eyes.

 

Freedom is clean drug screens.

 

 

Freedom is earning back trust.

 

Freedom is making amends.

 

 

Freedom is being present.

 

Freedom is moving forward.

 

 

Freedom is falling asleep at night with no shame.

 

Freedom is waking up every morning and trying again.

 

 

Freedom is enduring the triggers and cravings.

 

Freedom is not constantly looking over your shoulder.

 

Freedom is no longer fearing the withdrawals.

 

 

Freedom is coming out of hiding.

 

Freedom is being honest.....truly honest.

 

Freedom is losing the fear of getting caught....

of being "found out."

 

 

Freedom is not being chained to a bottle.

 

Freedom is stopping the chase.

 

 

Freedom is trusting others.

 

Freedom is trusting yourself.

 

 

Freedom is accountability...

to yourself and to others.

 

 

Freedom is taking it one day at a time.

 

Freedom is not giving up when everything

inside of you wants to.

 

 

Freedom is sharing your story despite the consequences.

 

 

Freedom is a real relationship with God.

 

Freedom is a real relationship with friends.

 

Freedom is a real relationship with family.

 

 

Freedom is being ok with yourself.

 

Freedom is forgiving yourself.

 

 

Freedom is having a purpose.

 

Freedom is giving back.

 

 

Freedom is letting go of the past.

 

Freedom is actively participating in the present.

 

Freedom is having hope for the future.

 

 

Freedom is respecting others.

 

Freedom is respecting yourself.

 

Freedom is being proud of how far you have come.

 

 

Freedom is light instead of darkness;

 

serenity instead of chaos;

 

 love instead of bitterness.

 

 

Freedom is picking up the key and unlocking the shackles.....

the ones you placed on yourself.

 

 

Freedom is liberation.

 

Freedom is deliverance.

 

Freedom is choice.

 

Freedom is power.

 

Freedom is liberty.

 

Freedom is life.

 

Freedom is sobriety.

 

 

 

And sobriety..........is freedom.

 

 

To read about the opposite of freedom, click here.

 

 

 

The opposite of freedom....

Captivity....confinement.....imprisonment....incarceration.....slavery.....oppression...bondage.

Antonyms for the word 'freedom'. 

You know another word that is the complete opposite of 'freedom'?  Addiction.  No matter how long you search, there can be no freedom found in it.

There is no freedom found in waking up, putting your feet on the floor, and starting the daily routine of chasing a drug. 

There is no freedom found in desperately wanting to get clean, to recover, to be sober, yet not being able to. 

There is no freedom found in looking your loved ones in the face, seeing how much they love you, knowing in the back of your mind how much you love them, yet stealing from them, lying to them, and deceiving/manipulating them. 

There is no freedom in having to be high for every single occasion, whether good or bad. 
No freedom in barely remembering a family vacation, because you were high the entire time. 
No freedom in nodding out at Christmas dinner, birthday parties.......and church.

There is no freedom in being in treatment or prison and not seeing your family for months and months and months at a time.  No freedom in missing out on those important days that happen during your imprisonment.

There is no freedom in getting clean....then relapsing.  Then getting clean....then relapsing.  Then getting clean....then relapsing.  Again....and again...and again...and again.

There is no freedom in planning your entire life around your addiction.  In making sure you have enough pills for vacation. In planning out your prescription schedule so you don't run out.  In never leaving home without your stash.

There is no freedom in withdrawals.  In cold sweats, tremors, vomiting, leg cramps, body pain, insomnia.  No freedom in feeling like you have been hit by an eighteen-wheeler.  No freedom in not making it through the withdrawals and picking back up again.  No freedom in those withdrawals continually appearing. 

There is no freedom in vowing to get clean 'tomorrow', or tapering your use, then tomorrow comes and you are powerless.  No freedom at all.

There is no freedom in lying to your loved ones.  In lying to your friends.  In lying to your mentors.  In lying to your employers.  In lying to your sponsors.  In lying to yourself.

There is no freedom in every dime you have being wasted on your drug of choice.  No freedom in having absolutely NOTHING to show for it.

There is no freedom in knowing you are the only one who can unlock the shackles, yet you lack the energy to even look for the key. 

There is no freedom in thinking you can control your use.  Of thinking you can only take one pill or one drink, then blinking your eyes and realizing you are out of control....yet again. 

There is no freedom in having to fight the horrible disease of addiction for the rest of your life.  No freedom in triggers and cravings. 

There is no freedom in your loved ones no longer trusting you.  No freedom in not being able to look them in the eye.  No freedom in constantly being questioned.  No freedom in not trusting yourself.


There is no freedom in hopelessness.  In despair.  In powerlessness. 
No freedom in being sick and tired of being sick and tired.
No freedom in hoping tomorrow never comes. 


There is no freedom found in addiction.  None at all.  And, lest you believe there ever can be, remember this.  The only things found in addiction are captivity, confinement, imprisonment, incarceration, slavery, oppression and bondage.  Oh yeah.....and death. 

Just for today, let's choose freedom over addiction.  Freedom over captivity.  Freedom over confinement.  Freedom over imprisonment and incarceration.  Freedom over slavery.  Freedom over oppression.  Freedom over bondage.  Freedom over death. 

Let's choose freedom one day at a time.

Why?

Because freedom trumps addiction.....any day of the week. 


To read about what true freedom is, click here.