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
3 comments:
beautifully articulate and sage. this insight applies to us all, not just addicts former and present. once again, blush, your prism on the world has revealed its colors and their majesty. can a simple thank you from the heart suffice as recompense for all you do?
huge donkeyballs. yes. lol!
me? brave??
exactly what am i doing??
just barely making it, i thought...
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