Sometimes we get hooked on things that can have a disastrous effect on our lives. What can we do to free ourselves from our obsession?

 

Seeking help may be hard for us to do. Yet it may be the right road to travel, when we’ve become a . . .

 

 

Drug Attic

 

“Hello, my name is Alicia Drummond and I’ve been a drug attic

     for over seven years.

I’m here this evening because I mustered up the courage

     and finally overcame my fears.”

 

“Thank you, Alicia, for standing before us and putting your attiction

     on display.

Your strength is admirable and those of us who share your problem

     are anxious to hear what you have to say.”

 

“You’re very welcome, as this is not an easy thing for me to do,

     for I’m a quiet person and self-absorbed, too.”

“Alicia, we all have experienced your fears and concerns, as we’ve

     dealt with our own attiction and tried to figure out what to do.

 

“At this time, I would like you to outline how you’ve traveled down

     the somewhat confusing attiction road.”

“I’ll try the best I can to do, but I’m a mess and have made buys

     on the street and, at times, I feel like I’m going to explode.”

 

“Please stay calm, as we are your friends and supporters,

     and will not make judgments about what you say.”

“All right, I will take you back in time, seven and a half years

     to be exact, and illustrate how I had to get high to fulfill

     my attiction, in my way.

 

“The first buy I made was small, but my husband, George,

     couldn’t cope with it.

He told me to put it where he couldn’t see it, so I got as high

     as I could in the house, stared at my purchase, and knew

     I couldn’t quit.

 

“I had to hide my curse from George and others, so I drug myself

     high up to my loft, day after day, to cover-up my terrible affliction.

My disease got worse and worse as the months passed

     and my purchases got larger and I’d fall deeper into attiction.

 

“It got so crazy that I was totally out of control and was draining

     our bank account to feed my troubled soul.

I drug myself and my precious buys most every day up to the high

     place, where I felt safe and under control.

 

“I need your help, as my life is falling apart in a way that’s hard to explain.

My purchases—tables, chairs, statues, and other furniture I don’t need,

     have caused my husband and me considerable pain. 

 

“I still drag my illicit buys up high to the attic atop my house in the hopes 

     of not being discovered.

Life bewilders me in a way I can’t believe and I hope from my attiction,

     with your help, I soon will be recovered.”

 

Thank you. 

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Many things happen in life that can’t be explained. Sometimes you need to take responsibility for what has occurred.

At other times, you have no clue what is happening. And then you are accused of . . .

 

 

Throwing Caution To The Wind

 

     My gun rested on the end table next to the living room couch. We’d been having brutal break-ins in the neighborhood lately and I wanted to protect myself. As I sat contemplating what else I needed to do to feel safe, the doorbell rang.

     Should I answer it? I thought. Probably. It was morning and the break-ins were occurring at night. So I got up from the couch, took my gun just in case, and went to the door. Grabbing the handle, I pulled it open. Staring at me was a bearded man dressed in shabby clothes, with a ragged knapsack hanging over his left shoulder.

     “Can I help you?” I asked.

     “I need to borrow your car,” he mumbled.

     “Borrow my car? What for?”

     “To go see my daughter.”

     “Where is she?”

     “I don’t know, but the voices in the wind told me she needs me.”

     “Voices in the wind?” Where is this ridiculous request coming from? I reflected. “What are you talking about? What voices?”

     “They are God’s way of making my life right. I must follow them. So give me your keys,” he demanded.

     I looked at my 2008 Camry sitting in the driveway. I didn’t even know if it had gas in it. With current prices going through the roof, I hadn’t filled the tank in weeks.

     “Did you hear me?” the bedraggled man queried, in a gravelly voice that made me shake.

     “Yes,” I muttered.

     “Then what are you waiting for?”

     “I can’t give you my car. I don’t know who the hell you are. And why did you knock on my door?”

     “Because He told me too.”

     “He? Who’s he?” The man didn’t answer and just stood there looking off into the clouds.

     “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

     “Let who know? Who are you talking to?” The crazy guy didn’t respond.

     Appearing uncomfortable that he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he dropped his knapsack on the ground and clenched his fists in way that made me cringe. I didn’t know what to expect next. I wanted to slam the door in his face, but I didn’t have the guts to do so.

     He started trembling and stared at me, with sadness in his eyes. He looked lost. “Help me, please.” Tears flowed down his cheeks. “My daughter needs me.”

     I don’t know where my next words came from, but I mustered up the courage and said, “I can’t give you my car, but I’ll drive you. Just tell me where we need to go.”

     “Home.”

     Now I was more confused. Home? He didn’t look like he had one. “Where’s home?” I asked.

     He lifted his head and looked into the sky. Then he pointed straight up. “What are you trying to tell me?”

     “He knows.”

     “He knows what? Where you live?” He shook his head.

     As crazy as all this appeared, my fear seemed to be lessening. I don’t know why, but I had to help this man.

     I grabbed my coat off the rack next to the door, stuck the gun I’d been holding all this time into my pocket, and closed the front door. Then I picked up the sad creature’s knapsack and ushered him to my car.

     He crawled into the passenger seat and I threw his knapsack onto the back seat. Then I slowly walked to the driver’s side and got in. I put the key in the ignition and just sat there. What do I do now? I thought.

     I looked at my passenger, bent over, with his chin resting on the dashboard. “Where are we going?” I asked.

     “To find my daughter,” he replied.

     “But how do I get there?”

     “Just go. He will show you.”

     So I turned on the ignition, pulled out of the driveway and headed down Logan Way, not having a clue where I was heading. When I reached the corner, the car seemed to be pulling to the right. Not wanting to challenge this mysterious force, I turned onto Ferris Drive, and drove cautiously down the street.

     As I approached the next intersection, I could see my “copilot” becoming antsy. He couldn’t sit still. “Are you all right?” I questioned.

     “My daughter will get you,” he mumbled.

     “What do you mean? Why will she get me?”

     “You did it to her.”

     “Did what?”

     “Keep driving.”

     “No, I need to stop.”

     “You can’t. He won’t let you.”

     “Who is he? Tell me, or I won’t go any further.”

     “You have no choice.”

     My hands began to shake, as the car seemed to be driving itself. I decided to turn at the intersection, but the car rejected my efforts. What the crap is happening? I thought.

     I put my foot on the brake, but the car kept going. “Who are you and what are you doing to me?”

     “He is in control. You must pay for your sins.”

     “Pay for my sins? What sins? And even if I had any, how do they involve you?”

     “My daughter will get you for what you did.”

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

     “Turn right at the light.”

     “Why?”

     “Do as I say. It is what He wants.”

     “He, who?”

     The car veered to the right onto Celebration Lane. There certainly was nothing to celebrate from my point of view. And then my heart began to beat out of control. Staring ahead, what I saw blew me away—the open gates to “God’s Forever Afterlife Cemetery.”

     “What is this? Why am I here?”

     “This is where you belong.”

     “You’re kidding. Aren’t you?”

     “You took her life and now I will take yours and deliver you to Him.”

     “Took her life? Whose life?”

     “My daughter.”

     “Your daughter. I don’t know your daughter.”

     “Yes, you do. She was your student. She believed in you. But you let her down.”

     “Let her down. But how?”

     “She went to your office for help that afternoon. You told her you were busy and couldn’t see her. You said she needed an appointment. She pleaded with you and you ignored her. That night, she jumped off the Madison Avenue bridge. My only child—dead! My wife threw me out after you killed her. I have nothing left.”

     “I would never kill anybody.” I reached for my gun in my jacket pocket, but . . .

     “Are you looking for this?”

     “You’re not going to . . .”

     “Come with me,” He said. “It wasn’t your fault. You could not have known what would happen when you told Elizabeth you were not available and that she needed to make an appointment. But to her father, you threw caution to the wind. Rest easy, my son. You will be at peace now—forever.”

    

    

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Do I regret what I said and did in the past? How will these actions affect my future?

 

When I reflect on my early years, I need to expound on . . .

 

 

The Things I Shouldn’t Have Said

 

I made a list the other night of the things I said that weren’t right,

Comments that were cruel and some that made me look like a fool.

 

I wondered if I could ever take back what I’d said—put my life together        

     before moving ahead.

I dreamed of a future where I’d speak the truth—one where I could escape 

     the mistakes of my youth.

 

How might I correct the errors of my ways and enjoy the rest of my days?

To put my past behind me is what I need to do and to both others

     and myself be true.

 

It was never my intention to betray you, my friends, but life has its twists

     and turns, with sometimes frightening ends.

I misspoke on many occasions, at times of my own doing and, at others, 

     because of not so gentle persuasions.

 

Today, I bow my head in shame, for my words and actions displayed, as I 

     played the game—

A game to win at any cost, I made statements I regretted, but believed

     if not done a win would be lost.

 

Forgive me for the sins of my past and cherish the true words I now share  

     with you in contrast.

For, as your leader, my words should be listened to and actions taken  

     to follow through.

 

It is then we will create what needs to be—a better world for you and me.

So on Election Day, place your vote on the ballot by my name, as this is

     the only way to win the game .

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

When the unexpected occurs, we don’t want to appear too anxious. Then what should we do?

 

Should we wait for a cue that might not come? What if we don’t act fast enough, on . . .

 

 

A Bright Summer Day

 

I couldn’t believe it when she appeared before me,

as I sat relaxing under the garden tree.

She looked at me in a bashful way,

on this beautiful, bright summer day.

 

My eyes met hers, shining and blue,

and she smiled at me and I didn’t know what to do.

A friendship might be possible, I’d say,

on this beautiful, bright summer day.

 

Was this a relationship meant to be—

one where we’d blend our hearts and souls perfectly?

She acted in a manner that took my breath away,

on this beautiful, bright summer day.

 

White, puffy clouds floated overhead in the sky,

moving in circles, but I didn’t know why.

Then the marvelous being just wandered away,

on this beautiful, bright summer day.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

We select a profession that will help others. We focus on helping them travel down life’s sometimes-bumpy highway.

 

However, we may find that this isn’t always easy, because

 

 

People Are . . .

 

As a psychologist, my focus is on people—who they are, what they do,       

     and how they navigate through life.

Sometimes what I observe makes perfect sense, but at other times

     it causes me considerable strife.

 

One of my patients didn’t take anything I said seriously and turned 

     everything into a joke.

She quipped, “As a therapist, you must understand ‘people are funny’ 

     and, from you, a laugh I’m trying to provoke.”

 

Another patient attempted to impress me with how extraordinary he was      

     and there was nothing he couldn’t do.

He was so arrogant, he frustrated me beyond belief and I said, “Yes,

     some ‘people are amazing,’ but one of them isn’t you.”

 

Well, as you can see, my job isn’t easy, because people aren’t always willing 

     to work with me, as they should.

In another situation, the husband, during a Couples Therapy session, yelled 

     at his wife, “You know, ‘people are world changers,’ and if you’d let me be 

     the boss, our world would be very good.”

 

While these sessions didn’t go as planned, the most disturbing ones occur 

     when “people are unreasonable” and resist the chance to get their life back 

     on track, as was the case in the following tale.

A woman entered my office, looked at me with a menacing glare in her eyes, 

     and said, “This is the last place I ever wanted to be and I don’t need your 

     help, but my probation officer told me if I didn’t come, I’d have to go to jail.”

 

Under these circumstances, I thought it might be time to stop being a

     therapist, but I didn’t feel I had the fortitude to do so.

But “people are unpredictable,” and when a client came into my office late

     one afternoon, to my surprise he viewed my credentials hanging

     on the wall, and said, “Do you know your license to practice expired

     a month ago?”

 

Shocked, I thought he was either being funny or possessed amazing ability 

     to see what was not apparent to me.

He changed my world that day in an unpredictable way and made me think it

     wouldn’t be unreasonable to become a retiree.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life can be crazy. Things happen that can’t be explained.

 

You try to make sense out of what you’ve experienced, but are left with the question, could it be . . .

 

  

Unbelievable But True?

 

“Oh, my God!” I screamed from my den, loud enough to rock my wife

     out of bed.

“What are you yelling about?” she asked. “You’re going to wake

     the dead.”

 

“Maybe they need to be awakened to help me resolve the problem

     I’ve discovered.”

“Problem? Couldn’t it wait until I woke up?” she sputtered.

 

“Is it so important that you have to act like a fool?”

“All right, if you listen to me, I’ll try to keep my cool.”

 

“That’ll be a first. You always overreact about small things.”

“Oh, come on! What’s small to you is important to me—like helping

     that injured little bird I found in our yard use its wings.”

 

“Well, I’m awake now, so explain your dire situation to me.”

“Okay, but you’ve got to keep an open mind and listen carefully.

 

“You know those twenty books of my poems I got printed for the family        

     the other day?”

“When you brought them home, you said they looked great

     and were done in the appropriate way.”

 

“Yes, they seemed to be perfect, but then I noticed something freaky.”

“What? You saw ghosts jumping off the page and they made you feel creepy.”

 

I ignored her response and said, “I picked up this one and everything        

     was as it should be.

However, the next one felt peculiar, like something strange was happening inside, 

     but I didn’t have the courage to look and see.”

 

“Get to the point already,” she stated, in a way that made me quake.

“Can’t you just pay attention without interrupting me?” I asked. She

     didn’t answer, but gave me the weirdest headshake.

 

Then a piercing look in her eyes made me cringe and I wanted to run

     from the house.

But before I could do so, standing before me was a six-foot mouse.

 

She’d transformed into a creature I couldn’t believe and I just stood there 

     frozen in place.

“Those are my books, for my family, and I can do anything I want with them,” 

     she exclaimed, as she stared straight in my face.

 

“The pages are all crinkled and wrinkled inside and I’ll tell you why.

If you gotta go, you gotta go, and doing it in the book was the right place

     to try.”

 

“You peed in the book, but that’s a God awful thing to do.”

“Did you want me to do it in bed and let it flow all over you?”

 

“But you’re my wife, not a mouse, and a weird one at that.”

“Well, would you rather I was something else, like maybe a twelve-foot cat?”

 

No, this can’t be happening, I thought. A huge cat stood before me in what                  

     must be my ridiculous dream.

“Life can be a mystery,” she said. “Things are not always what they seem.

 

But if you put your nose in the book, you’ll see what I’m telling you isn’t

     a lie.

So do as I say, and give it a try.”

 

“No way will I do that and you can’t force me to.”

I couldn’t believe what happened next and I had no idea what to do.

 

A shower poured from the heavens above and bathed me in stink.

The cat, now a mouse again, smiled and gave me a wink.

 

The next morning I awoke and slowly opened my eyes.

There on my wife’s pillow sat my poetry book, now titled—

     “A Cat And A Mouse In Our House: The Great Surprise.”

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

I decided to enter a poetry contest. But I didn’t realize this might become a team effort.

 

My wife got involved. And this made the process of entering . . .

 

 

A Contest To Remember

 

As I sat in front of my computer preparing to enter a poetry contest,

     my wife came into my den—my creative home.

She asked what I was doing and I said I was trying to select one

     of five contest categories in which to write a poem.

 

The first, “What Money Can’t Buy,” I told her made me think of things

     such as peace of mind, happiness, and living a loving life together.

She looked me straight in the eye and, with a wry smile, stated,

     “If you purchase the expensive ring I desire, you’d capture my heart forever.”

 

I took a deep breath before announcing the second category,

     “Unbelievable But True,” which seemed like a provocative topic 

     to address.

“As an example, my meeting you through a dating website was unbelievable, 

     but I never expected it would lead to a lasting relationship,” I must confess.

 

Before she could comment, I blurted out the third category, “A Very

     Special Year,” which got my heart pounding.

But then she rattled off a list of what should happen, including winning

     the lottery, refurnishing the house, and becoming famous, all quite

     astounding.

 

She looked over my shoulder and saw the fourth category jumping

     off the screen—“Reaching For The Stars”—something to aim

     for in life.

I said, “This is where I can dream of exciting goals to attain—retiring

     early, traveling the world, and not always having to please my wife.” 

 

She glared at me and commented, “I see the last category, ‘My Most 

     Embarrassing Moment,’ will make you expose something in your

     past you’ve been hiding from me.”

With a grin on my face, I replied, “I guess this is one category

     I’m not going to select for there are certain things in my past,

     I don’t want you see.”

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.