An addict.
What a terrible thought.
The first step to fixing a problem is admitting it… something like that, right?
An addict.
To be addicted means to have a compulsive need to have or be involved in something, known to be harmful to the user.
Compulsive means it is a deeply ingrained and maladaptive pattern of behavior.
Ingrained, as in, I can’t escape.
It never seemed I could.
I fell consistently into the trap of my cravings knowing I didn’t want to.
I couldn’t help myself.
An addict.
I never needed help, I thought.
I was a good student, involved in my student body, I did well in school, had responsible friends and even went to youth group. Yet, I, an addict, knew I was only trying to convince myself everything was ordinary.
Addiction can develop despite a person’s best intentions and in spite of their strength of character. Worse, many people are addicted to more than one element, complicating their efforts toward recovery.
It’s not a physical drug but sometimes, I think my problem is even worse.
I’m addicted to being everything I hate.
I’m addicted to walking toward evil even when I know I should abstain from getting close. I’m cannot keep myself from accusing and judging others’ intentions. I habitually fear and worry. I question God’s ability to use me for good.
I’m addicted to fear when I’m faced with the opportunity to confess Jesus as my savior. I doubt his sovereignty like I’ve never seen the miraculous moments and I have this obsessive nature of thinking of myself too proudly and yet hating how I look. It becomes an unescapable cycle.
I’m addicted to being anxious and worried. I’m disgustingly dependent on bitterness and unforgiveness and may God keep anyone from asking me for prayer because it seems I always forget.
Often, a drug is taken the first time by choice to feel pleasure or to relieve depression or stress. The excitement is short-lived as the repeated drug tears into the body brutally. Repeated drug use disrupts well-balanced systems in the human brain that persist violently eventually replacing a person’s normal needs and desires with a desire to seek these drugs. At this point, normal desires and motives will have a hard time competing with a desire to take the new need.
I’m gotten stuck in a pattern of not working with God and thus working against him. I judge. I’m lustful. One moment I can’t help it. The next, I don’t know who I am. And the next, I can’t keep myself from doing the very thing I despised earlier.
I’m addicted to straying away from God’s guidance and addicted to the feeling of shame that comes consistently after. I consistently choose not to comfort the mourning and feed the poor.
I’m addicted to allowing Vogue to tell me how to dress, taking communion from peer pressure and I feel a lack of control over my constant complaining voice.
I’m conceited. I am inconsiderate. I am never content. I’m prone to mistakes, wrong attitudes, lapses of faith and bitter failures.
I partake in foolish conversation and am the quickest to speak. My brain says “don’t” and yet my tongue speaks.
I despise being corrected and choose false counsel. I curse, debate, make bad debts, and feel a constant exhausting pull toward injustice.
I am an addict.
I want to love the Lord and yet I am habitually a slave to maliciousness.
As Paul puts it,
“I need something more,
For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help.
I realize that I don’t have what it takes.
I can will it, but I can’t do it.
I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it;
I decide not to bad, but then I do it anyway.
My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in action.
Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.”
(Romans 7: 17-20 MSG)
I guess Paul was an addict too.
Ripped apart from my sinful nature and mind that only wants to serve the Lord, I’m addicted to asking for forgiveness.
I find myself incapable of being anything but weak and uncontrollable.
I have a gripping sickness of who I am. I am an addict.
I abuse my right to beg for mercy. I’m addicted to asking God for compassion.
But God’s addicted to giving it.