I was on a downhill path nine years ago. Strung out and sucking down a pack a day. Cratering, I hit my lowest, and while I wasn’t suicidial, I became survival-ambivalent. My days were measured by doses of opiates and nicotine. Would I have enough pills to stay in my little fluffy cloud? Enough smokes to settle my stomach and hand?
Years after I gained them, the habits started to fall away. Some because my body was no longer able to play, others because I was done. Feeling better was better than feeling worse. I was ready to start working on it and was given an unexpected reward.
A little over eight years ago, I don’t know if I cared anymore, the opiate spirits inhabiting my deepest soul. Somehow I walked away. Over four years ago, I was just done, nicotine no longer my master, and one last addiction so hard to break.
My reward was grandchildren and a refocused life. I want to be around at least sixteen more years to see their high school graduations, so ten is another milepost on my path. Right now, everything I am doing is to meet that goal. See you in ten years.
Remain Lost 
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