The Last withdrawal 🌸🍋
I called it love
because addiction sounds too ugly
when it wears a familiar voice.
I kept reaching
for the same kind of hurt
expecting it to heal different.
But wrong love is still a drug
even when it knows your favorite song,
even when it says your name soft,
even when it feels like home
but burns like a warning.
I relapsed
every time I confused chemistry
with covenant.
Every time I mistook a spark
for a sign from God.
Every time I went back
to the thing that left me empty
and called it missing him.
But tonight,
I am done romanticizing my ruin.
I am done calling chaos connection.
Done calling crumbs consistency.
Done letting my heart overdose
on almost.
This is the final goodbye
to the version of me
that needed to be chosen
by someone who kept choosing confusion.
I release the craving.
I release the fantasy.
I release the ache
that made me think pain was proof.
I am not weak
because I loved hard.
I am powerful
because I’m leaving soft
No screaming.
No begging.
No last hit of closure.
Just me,
hands open,
heart shaking,
soul sober.
And this time,
when the memory calls…
I let it ring….
From my own experience, recognizing that what seemed like love was actually a form of addiction can be both eye-opening and painful. The poem's metaphor of confusing chemistry with a covenant truly resonates—there were times I mistook intense emotions and fleeting sparks as signs of a meaningful connection, only to find myself trapped in cycles of hurt and hope. One of the hardest but most empowering steps is acknowledging the illusions often called 'love' that actually serve as emotional crutches. I, too, have romanticized what was essentially a harmful pattern, convincing myself that chaos was connection, crumbs were consistency, and pain was proof of caring. The turning point comes when you decide enough is enough—not with anger or desperation but with a calm and sober heart. Like in the poem, this final goodbye is less about loud confrontation and more about a quiet, powerful release of craving, fantasy, and pain. It’s a release that requires immense courage because it means letting go of something familiar, even if toxic. Sharing this journey in a supportive community or through personal reflection helped me understand that strength lies not in clinging to damaging relationships but in leaving them gently but firmly. We often think love requires sacrifice to the point of self-destruction, but real love—self-love—begins with choosing peace and choosing ourselves. The idea of ‘letting the memory ring’ instead of answering is something I practice regularly; it’s about allowing thoughts of past pain to exist without giving them control over your present. Over time, this practice diminishes the grip of emotional addiction and opens space for healing and new love based on respect and mutual care. If you find yourself repeatedly drawn to the same kind of hurt, know you are not alone. Breaking the cycle is possible, and it starts with redefining love as something that uplifts and nourishes rather than depletes and confuses. This poem beautifully captures that painful yet hopeful transformation.
