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?