Tired Eyes

If there was a cliche that I find more ironic than any other it would be the adage, "Once a _____, always a _____ (supply with your choice of adjective)." My choice of adjective would be addict. For a few months there I thought I had my own addiction under control. But lately, I've been experiencing a relapse. For the last 30 days, I smoked a cig on three occasions. I feel the compulsion growing.

After smoking a cig earlier, I went to the men's room to rid myself of the stench, akin to a common criminal trying to get rid of any evidence of a crime committed. Even after I washed my face twice with soap and water, the stench persisted. It was nauseating. While patting my face dry with paper towels, a tired face stared back at me from the mirror. Sullen eyes did nothing to hide what I was feeling. I was tired of this. Tired of the same addiction coming back to haunt me again and again.

It could be worse, though. The last time I visited to Tarlac, I was warned by frat brod that I shouldn't meet with this other friend of ours. It seems that he's being watched by local law enforcement. He's apparently into his old destructive habits again. He got hooked on shabu a few years back. We were relieved when he got married two years ago. His drug problem seemed to have disappeared when his son was born. But lately, he's been scorned by his own family. I was told they drew the line when he chased after his youngest sibling with gun in hand. An argument about drugs had turned bad, they told me.

While I was looking at my reflection in the mirror, I became more depressed. Was I doomed to the same fate? Will I ever be rid of this curse? I felt sorry for him. I truly did. As sorry as I felt for myself.