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Flat line ...

Resuscitate, flat line, resuscitate, flat line ...
          and back again ... to sinus rhythm ... to life.
               Three times my heart stopped, and thrice they brought me back.
     It was no one's fault but mine, and it was no surprise ...

I had reached the point where my heart could no longer handle it -
          could no longer process the amount of opioids I was ingesting daily
               just to keep from being sick ... mind, body, emotions,
     So incredibly ill and depressed and anxious, that I could not stand it,

That I would do anything to get away from it ... anything.
          Chronic pain had brought me there, to hell,
               but I stayed of my own account - my own weakness.
     The worst, most appalling thing about it?

That I was so emotionally numb to existence,
          that I didn't even care, or understand how lucky I was to return.
               Before I realized what had happened, I was back in an ambulance,
     on my way to detox and rehab ... for the seventh time.

Except this time was different, this time I didn't walk in,
          it wasn't of my own volition, and I was strapped to a stretcher,
               not for the sake of protocol, but so I couldn't thrash,
     so I wouldn't hurt myself or someone else,

Or do what I felt I needed to in order to get away -
          in order to escape the excruciating effects of withdrawal.
               Little did I know at the time,
     that I had been ... reborn ...

That I had been given a second chance at life,
          a chance that I didn't deserve.
               That was fourteen years ago, and I'm still here,
     proud of the very hard work I've done to get my life back,

Thankful for each moment that I am blessed with,
          and warmed by every ray of sunshine that I'm gifted.
               Something saw fit to keep me around,
     and I pray that I can touch the heart of another who struggles as I did,

To let them know that it is possible,
          possible to cross that seemingly un-crossable span,
               and claim life anew with the grace of Heaven,
     the bright, glistening horizon of hope ...

And the blossoming breath ... of a new day.




~ 1st Place ~  in the "Second Chances" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
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