Author: Andrew Littlefield

What if all the horrible things we do to ourselves In our minds and in our hearts Are to keep us from realizing How much we love our lives And how afraid we are to lose them What if all the anger we have towards people Who bastardize the things that we stand for Is really just confusion about How the things we stand for could hurt people What if all the fear we have About everything being OK Is really a fear that Everything is OK right now but we still don’t feel OK My favorite conspiracy theory is…

Recovery has gifted me so many things, but the gift that overwhelms me the most is the love it has enabled me to bear. It’s a beautiful thing, really, but oh, my Lord, can it be overwhelming. I’m blessed with so much love and connection that I haven’t learned how to carry it all. Staying in touch with everyone I care about feels like an impossible task -not because I don’t want to but because I miss them so damn much. It’s the ironic and antithetical truth: that I miss people too much to give them a call. Let’s take…

It seems that in its search for eternal balance, my brain has decided that for every time I feel good, I must feel equally and oppositely bad. Whenever I get to a point where I can let my consciousness surrender my control, I have noticed that my subconscious steps right back in to retake it. If I wrote an old timey diary I’d be diagnosed bipolar, in the morning it would say, “I think I can do this,” And in the evening it will say, “You didn’t, and you can’t.” An unkind mind will make you wonder if all of…

Sometimes I wish I could die at my desk. I could silently slide into the bliss of never having to work to live again. Because this isn’t work it is death. It is crawling through the sewer pipes of a bloated and corrupted system, Clawing at whatever shit we can to push down the pipe to those below us. Then we tell them to be grateful for what they have. Then we tell them they shouldn’t be there in the first place. Sometimes I wish I could die at my desk so I don’t have to be angry anymore. So…

Some books leave a quiet yet profound impact on their readers, and Alex’s poetry collection, I Learned How to Love From Heroin, does precisely that. From first glancing at the title and dedication, I felt a deep connection to this work. As a person in recovery, these seemingly simple elements were powerful enough to ground me in a shared experience before I even turned the first page. The collection begins with a foreword that acts as an introduction and an invitation—a call to use this poetry as a springboard for self-expression. Alex encourages readers to take this journey with him while simultaneously…

Today was another difficult day. I woke up with the nausea that had been hounding me for weeks, preventing me from getting the sustenance I needed to feel happy. Everything felt off from the beginning, as it has been, as I am again afraid it will be forever. You see, the darkness has become ever more painful because my life is filled with light. I’ve done the things I’m supposed to do, become the man I’m supposed to be… I am living unmasked… I am living unmasked? I am living another lie. After yet another argument with the love of…

I never had a father, Just a sperm donor Who acted like a father So that society would feed his narcissism. I am damaged and forgotten. I am my own father And whisper into my ears “You could have done better” I am my own father. I have assumed the feelings Of disappointment My father was never around to express. I have ruined myself. I have told myself “you are not enough” Enough times To believe it. I have continued his legacy Of forgetting me Of forgetting I am human Of forgetting my need to be loved. I never had…

One day I awoke and told myself I was sad. Thus, my childhood died. I remember smiles; laughter from the simplest things… distant memories. I poured my essence into those I thought I loved instead of myself. Neglect, my great fear: Avoiding it from others, I found it inside. Why do I feel whole? Why does universal pain lead me to self-love?

In today’s world, it’s easy to feel lost. Inflation is skyrocketing, housing costs are spiraling out of control, and we are still reeling from the aftermath of a global pandemic. We face an unrelenting drug epidemic, social media pressures, and an endless barrage of crises that make it feel like the world is stacked against us. There’s a deep sense of unfairness that hangs over our collective heads, leading many to question if life is as good as it used to be or whether it holds any hope for the future. I’ve spent a lot of time studying history, both…

For years I have dreamed of a project: To write everyone I loved and tell them why I love them, Tell them how they changed my life. Tell them which pieces of them left an imprint on me that I will carry forever. Tell them which pieces of me I was happy to surrender. There would be so many letters. First, I would write to the people I lost, to tell them what I miss most about their presence. To ask them how they want to be honored, instead of grasping at straws and hoping they like what I’m up…

Hubris. It’s a word we often associate with arrogance, with the idea that someone thinks they’re invincible. But in my experience, hubris is far more insidious. It doesn’t roar in my strongest moments; it whispers in my weakest. It creeps in when everything is going right, telling me that I, somehow, can single-handedly mess up everything I’ve built, everything that my higher power has laid out before me. I stand here today, a person in recovery, with a life that, by all accounts, should be a testament to grace and redemption. Yet, in the quiet of my mind, hubris has…

Who have I become in the absence of superficial desires and the presence of a meaningful life? Once God finds you, you can never lose Him, yet can daily lose yourself. I imagined fulfillment producing more serotonin; vibrant, intoxicating, not a brightly colored Grey. I have always known that love is more than just a feeling, but now I can’t feel it. I am a Good person, I am humble, And I am afraid.

I fear my subconscious is a predator. I fear it knows all of my weaknesses and manipulates me into hating myself. I fear the thought that it is something other than my subconscious so much that I forget to remember it is. I fear I act tough and that I am nothing. Forgetting Christ used to be a “whoopsie” But now as I settle into the role he requires of me It seems to have consequences. I can ill afford to forget how much He loves me. Something is telling me I’m not good enough, and I’m not sure that…

There are flies in my apartment, and I only have excuses. I forgot to take out the garbage last week because I couldn’t get off the couch. I couldn’t get off the couch because I was depressed. I was depressed because I quit my job. I quit my job because my mental health couldn’t take the pressure. My mental health couldn’t take the pressure because I got too invested in the work. I got too invested in the work because I didn’t see enough people doing it. I didn’t see enough people doing it because they were taking care of…