So last night he talked to me. Then we made love. This morning I talked to him. Everything is fine--we are back on the same page. I feel so close to him again. He's having what I can only call bipolar problems. Missed a couple of doses and can't remember why he's alive. He feels like a fuck up because of the drugs and the rehab and the general fucking up. It hurts him like it hurt me. It still hurts me sometimes. I told him the things I had learned the hard way. I told him how lucky we were that all it takes is a pill to make us feel normal because most of the world needs a hell of a lot more than that. I told him of how it took "fucking up" to realize that because I couldn't be married with my degree at 22 since I was already 23 and in jail, doors opened for me that I never knew existed. Suddenly I could be anything and everything else. Just because that's what we've always thought we were meant for does not mean that's the truth. You can't always give into fate; sometimes you have to fight it, sometimes you have to make life happen. Sometimes you have to do that by taking a fucking pill everyday for help. Fuck it, why not? You're a drug addict anyway, make it a game. That's what I do. Yeah, it fucking sucks. But it's better than the alternative. And you know what the alternative is.
Jam for the Day: Fighter by Christina Aguilera












