For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” [Luke 24:15]

A divine verse told many years ago, but our days are no longer divine, and miracles no longer happen. I am not sure if I was dead and was revived, or if I’m somewhere in between.

I created my own path, far from my father’s; from the terror haunting my dreams, seeping into my waking life, to the point where couldn’t tell what’s real from what’s not. being 50 years older, communication and acceptance of my ideas conflicted between both of us, perpetually difficult.Drugs were my only refuge. The only way I could see myself without my fearful gaze, or yours.Drugs are both poison and honey, but only one them back then. I don’t know if he was aware then. Didn’t you care that I made my own choices? That I defied yours? I found myself losing everything, bit by bit, and my world was suddenly flipped over its head.

Everyone around me was either on the verge of death, or trapped within its chains. And I, too, was on the brink of my ruin. I became a little kid again, reaching out for someone to pull me out of my own hell. I ran away, trying to find shore, even though I knew no one would be waiting on the other side.

After all these years, after what I’d become, I knew no one would accept me. But the truth was far from that. My loneliness dissipated. I found my father by my side. We forgave each other, and finally tried to communicate. It’s been five years. I can still remember it all vividly, and I realize that some things will never change.

I still find myself going back to old habits, I still find fractures in our relationship. I still don’t know who was to blame, or who’s at fault. All I know is I’m still searching for myself, despite everything that happened and everything that will.

 

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