Conquer of Addiction: Jekyll and Hyde

Author's Note: When reading the final chapter of Jekyll and Hyde the idea of addiction was constantly flooding my mind. And it is not limited to Jekyll's addiction to the potion but any addiction that is placed in our lives today. There's something about them that are so attracting yet so destructive which is portrayed through Jekyll/Hyde's life. Then I was thinking that the author of this short story must of had some sort of an addiction to show such strong emotion in their writing, but used the potion to portray it. So I wrote about an "addiction" I have but through the addiction of alcohol to mimic the author's technique.

I also used a parallel sentence structure with the line: "I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine."

Conquer of Addiction 

The stranger staring back at me in the glass gazes with drooping eyes. This beverage I so faithfully consume has altered me inside and out. But still I cling to the one thing that takes away the pain, takes me away from reality, takes me away from the judgment and the label that this world has so generously stamped right on my forehead. Alcoholic. That's all I am and all I'll ever be.

I'll never forget the day I was first enslaved to this addiction. Which is almost cruel because after a long night of nearly bathing myself in wine, I forget everything about life; everything but the memory of how this all began. It's as if the enemy is messing with my head, sucking out the few warm memories I've experienced and leaving me to reminisce on the amply memories involving alcohol. I can picture him laughing at me with a demented smirk. Taking pleasure in dangling my biggest weaknesses right under my nose and watching me trip over myself time after time trying to reach it. And the worst part is, even when I do reach it, it won't get better. If anything, things will get worse.

Infact, reaching that desire only makes that night haunt me even more. I was so innocent, so untouched by evil. All up until that sweet gulp of wine found its way down my throat, leaving behind a burning sensation that got me hooked in the matter of seconds. I knew my new self after the first breath of this new life, to be more free, plentifully more free, unchained to my original life of despair; and the idea, in that moment delighted me like the drink I am, to this day, enslaved to. How could something so destructive, so demolishing, something that decays at the human soul at the same time be so lustfully pleasurable? How I wish I could tell you the answer but if I could, I don't think this disease would have the upper hand.

How long will my enemy conquer over me?
When will my slavery to this life of despair come to an end?
To this day, I have no purpose. No chance. No hope.
All I can do is pray; pray that God will spare me from the enemy whose games will haunt my life forever.