Silent Truths

The Struggle

There was a time when I truly believed I had found the perfect escape. Not in some great achievement, not in a meaningful relationship, not in a higher purpose—but in drugs, alcohol, and the euphoric release they provided. It wasn’t just about getting high.

It wasn’t about getting wasted. It was about finally feeling like I had somewhere safe to exist, a place in my mind untouched by the crushing weight of reality.

I’ve been sober for over 20 years now, but the echoes of that life still speak to me. Not in cravings for the substance, but in the questions I still wrestle with.

• Why was I so addicted?
• What was I really trying to escape?
• Why did the world seem unbearable, even when I was doing everything right?

These are the questions that linger in my soul, demanding answers even now.

The Weight of Life

As I was reading my last blog post about the requirements of life, I felt something stir deep within me—a realization, an uncomfortable truth: addiction isn’t just about getting high. It’s about escaping the crushing reality that no matter how hard you try, the world will never make it easy on you.

I tried. I really tried. I worked, I struggled, I played by the rules, and still—the world kept pushing me down. No admiration, no recognition, no moment of rest. Just another expectation, another demand, another reason to feel like I was never enough.

The moment I found drugs, I found relief.

The moment I understood the warmth of wine, I felt security.

I had discovered a place that no one could take from me, where I didn’t have to try anymore, where nothing was required of me.

The truth about addiction isn’t that we’re lazy or reckless. It’s not that we don’t care about life. It’s that we care too much, and when we see the system for what it is—unfair, relentless, indifferent to our efforts—we decide we don’t want to play by its rules anymore.

And in our desperation, we find a new system, one built entirely inside our own minds. A system where pain is numbed, stress is dulled, and expectations don’t exist.

Why the Addict Holds On

People think addicts just don’t want to get better. They think we’re too weak, too broken, or just too far gone. But the truth? We hold on to addiction because it is the only place we’ve ever felt truly safe.

We don’t want to be thrown back into society, where life feels meaningless, exhausting, and unrewarding. We don’t want to return to that cold reality, where trying harder only seems to make things worse. We convince ourselves that sober people don’t really understand, that they have simply accepted the monotony, the grind, the suffering as a way of life.

But what I failed to realize back then was that they do understand. They see the same broken world, the same injustice, the same imbalance—but they’ve come to terms with something I hadn’t yet grasped:

Life … It’s Also Beautiful

Sober people don’t pretend life is fair. They don’t pretend it’s easy. What they’ve accepted is that even in all its unfairness, even in all its suffering, life is still worth living.

The real problem wasn’t that life was too hard—it was that I only saw one side of it. I saw pain, struggle, failure—but I didn’t see the other side. I didn’t see the moments of beauty, the joy in the smallest things, the tug of war between good and evil that made this world so raw, so alive.

I had spent so much time trying to escape the struggle that I didn’t realize the struggle itself is what makes life meaningful. I was so afraid of suffering that I never stopped to consider that there is a deep, unshakable beauty in enduring it, in standing up against it, in fighting through it.

The Lie

When I was trapped in addiction, I believed I had figured out something that no one else had the courage to admit—that the requirements of life were pointless, that the system was rigged, that the only way to find happiness was to opt out entirely.

But now I see it for what it really was: a lie.

The euphoria of drugs, the numbing comfort of alcohol—they weren’t an escape at all. They were just another requirement, another system with its own set of rules, its own demands for survival. The highs, the lies, the cycles of addiction—they were never truly freeing me.

I wasn’t escaping reality. I was just creating a different prison.

The True Freedom

Sobriety isn’t just about quitting. It isn’t just about being clean. It’s about seeing reality for what it is and embracing it anyway.

To be truly free of addiction, I had to accept the truth I once rejected—that yes, life is hard, unfair, and relentless, but it is also beautiful, meaningful, and worth every ounce of struggle.

I had to realize that my place in this world isn’t about how much I accomplish, how much I’m admired, or how easy my life is. My place is simply to exist, to experience, to take in the raw, unfiltered reality of life itself.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
— John 1:5

There is so much light in this world, even in the darkness. But I had to choose to open my eyes to see it.

The Struggle That’s Worth It

Addiction thrives on the belief that there is no other way, that the world is too cruel, too broken, too unbearable. It feeds off the idea that life is meaningless, that there is no point in trying.

But that is the greatest deception of all.

The struggle is worth it. The fight to stay sober, to endure, to experience reality as it is—that is the greatest battle, and it is one worth winning.

Because when I finally stopped running, when I finally let go of the false security of my own mind, I discovered something I never expected:

Life is not perfect. Life is not fair. But life is real. And that is enough.