DIARY OF MARY
Night before I return home
08-06-1912:
It is hard to believe I will be going home in the morning. I cannot wait to see my family. I wonder if they miss me, or has it been a relief not to worry about me and my problems. Do I dare call it what it truly is; an addiction. After all isn’t that why I came here; to face my addiction to morphine. There, I said it – ADDICTION. But I can say I am not totally to blame. If only James had been more willing to part with a few extra dollars, I could have been seen by a “real” doctor, not some quack that at a drop of a hat, prescribed me morphine. Any respectable doctor would have known I was reeling from the death of my precious Eugene. I told Jamie to stay out of his room, but he didn’t. And now my sweet baby is gone, taken by the measles – oh, why couldn’t have Jamie listen to me? Anyway, it wasn’t morphine I needed; I just needed to be heard, to deal with my grief. I can’t say that the morphine did not help; it did! What a shame something that can bring such euphoria and, for a sweet moment, a release my anguish can cause such damage. The doctors say it is an illusion; it sure does feel real to me. They say it is just a temporary fix. I guess they are right. It’s not so hard to stay sober here at rehab, but what about when I get home, where temptation and opportunity have the strong possibility of colliding? Home, shouldn’t it be a safe place; it was when I was growing up. Daddy, oh how I miss you. If only you were here, home could be that safe place again. Home, will I survive there?