I am Izell Robinson, Minnesota inmate number 210006. Today, I want to present a piece called “Confessions of an Addict.”
I’ve evaded pain for far too long. At least I thought I was by distracting myself from. My distraction came in the form of unhealthy alternatives that people often make resolutions to rid themselves from.
I chose to engage in heavy amounts of partying that became my escape and numbness from trauma existing in my life. Partying, for me, meant opportunity to be someone different, and it turned out to be access to unchallenged chemical usage and sexual behaviors. I left reality in search of fun or what I would describe as an easier sense of living.
However, this euphoria would last for moments at a time and proved to be something I was repeatedly chasing. I wasn’t content with sitting still. I was so afraid to face the wounded person within me, so I continued to run fast and far from myself. Fatigue caught up to me when Red Bull mixed Redberry Ciroc Vodka kept my eyes darting and heart racing.
As the chemical sensations wore down, I was more attuned to the anxiety coursing through my veins. As my hands would shake, the unsteadiness of my mind and body led me to lie in several unknown beds. I would awaken to my uncovered nakedness entangled with the nakedness of an unfamiliar soul. I had no recollection of how I got into this position or if protection had been used.
There was honestly more confusion with evading pain than filling it, yet I was becoming addicted to a lifestyle of a avoidance and believing the more that I avoid my problems, it would just disappear. Sadly, that was not true. At least in my case, for me, as my past issues would resurface some type of way through others, my trust in just about everyone was frayed. And I didn’t know how to love myself, even though I couldn’t even trust myself enough.
I tried therapy, but it made me feel trapped, like I was in a prison, and the claustrophobia proved to be too huge of an obstacle for me to overcome. I dislike the initiation of hard conversations. For me, it is a interruption of a silence I’ve held sacred to protect me.
I would rather drown my sorrows and Red Bull and Vodka-soaked tears where my inhibitions seemed to become free. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it to be the person I’m destined to be. My true confession is the need to be free, but what is free if I’m a slave to the painful trauma hidden within me?
Confessions of an addict.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
