An alcoholic
Does not an addict make.

I have my vices,
Am honest,
Make no excuses.

I expected static
After my confession
But not like this.

There is a stigma I carry,
A label I’ve been placed with
Beyond alcoholic,
Beyond recovering.


“Hide your bottles,
Take the beer from your fridge.
We can’t go to that bar.
CiCi’s coming.

Take your prescriptions
Out of the medicine cabinet,
Keep your Vicodin
In your purse.
Better to be safe
Than sorry.

Put that bag away,
We can’t smoke that in front of her.
Don’t offer her that joint-
We wouldn’t want her replacing
One vice for another.

Do you really think
You should date right now?
Don’t you need to focus
On recovery?
You don’t really have time
To worry about someone else.”

Alright, everyone.
The last time I checked,
I was doing this
On my own.

You can leave me alone
With your children
And you can keep your medicine
In the bathroom.

I’m not going to steal your silver
Or get addicted to drugs.

Last time I checked,
I had some self-control.
It’s how I got sober
To begin with.

There is no neon sign on my head
Blasting the word ‘untrustworthy.’

The irony is
That I never encountered this
Until I was honest.
Until I told the world
The nature of my illness.

Now that I have,
People are worried.
The time for concern
Has passed.

If I was to do anything worse,
Now is not the time.

And by your logic:
[addiction to something = addiction to everything]
Why am I not on cocaine? Meth?
Why am I not a pot-head,
Or popping pills?

Because I have
An alcohol problem.

My addiction hasn’t robbed me
Of my self-control
Or self-respect.

There is no need to hide things from me.
I’m around it all the time.

And I’m sure I’ll be dealing with this
For the rest of my life.
The judgement.

But if you can’t trust me,
I’ve got no time for you.

You’ve been warned.



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