I once knew an incredibly handsome man who had thick jet black hair and a mustache. An extraordinary extrovert, this man had a jovial laugh and jubilant energy; a kind of energy that spread like fire and radiated towards everyone around him. He loved his daughter, sports, egg salad, listened to Chicago, loved Three's Company and The Hulk. I used to pretend he was my Hulk and he was saving me. He made everyone around him feel like the most important person in the world. We lived in a house in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where he worked as a roofer for Packerland. This man died of a lifelong heroin addiction. A life that ended at age 59. This man was my father. That's right, Carl Michael Minotte, husband, son, father, brother, father and heroin addict. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay I share this with you, not because I am looking for pity, quite the contrary, it is because I 'longs for the moment when those who suffer and have been victims of the horrible disease of addiction receive the memorial their souls truly deserve. Many of us, especially those fortunate enough not to be addicts, are unaware that users are powerless over their addiction. Until recently, this has been a difficult concept for me to understand, as I watched my father go from a hilarious, confident, powerful man to a rapidly declining individual as if a cancerous python was slowly tightening around his neck . None of us ever compete with this python. For addicts, there is never a choice to make. However, we are significantly influenced by the decisions and choices we make when we love an addict. For years, I wondered if I could have been a better daughter in some way. Have I missed opportunities to help him with his addiction? Was there anything I could have done to encourage changes in his life? When I look at reality, I desperately wanted him to change, but there was nothing I could do to influence those changes. How could I when he was in and out of prison and then in prison for most of my life. What I didn't realize is that I'm among the vast majority of humans who can have an alcoholic beverage or two without feeling the NEED to continue feeding this beast. I have never ingested a substance or yearned for something more powerful to fill the darkness within me. My father, however, woke up every morning physically ill, his body exploding with pain until he succumbed to the desire to resort to numbing. It’s true that unapologetic addiction is a level of suffering I can’t understand. This morning I saw a picture on a social networking site. The image depicted a spoon with heroin and a lighter underneath “cooking” the substance so it could be injected. Today I am the first to stand up and say that it is absurd to let a stupid, insensitive image on Facebook affect me. I admit that this is something I really could have ignored. However, such an image begs the question whether the families of those who have died from drugs and alcohol deserve more memories and a candlelight vigil, rather than such a graphic reminder of the realities of addiction? Keep in mind: This is only a sample.Get a custom essay from our expert writers now.Get a custom essayIs this a?