30 days


I know there is untapped crevices within ourselves that seep out when the thoughts turn strung together letters, which become words, joined together they turn to sentences. That something becomes oddly tangible when you can see it neatly packaged on a screen or paper (sans the little red line I’ve become so reliant on because spelling is so over rated). 

Power in the written word. 

It’s been exactly one month since I came home from work to find my husband drinking, and on god knows what else – how could he have not been using…?  I have no doubt there was more than alcohol that day.  I’ve been around enough alcoholics and non-alcoholics to know that people just don’t get like that by drinking alone. 

He’s still in jail on some insane bail amount.  I remain in the dark in what is going on with him, what he and his lawyer have slated for the prelim. 

I’ve written him almost every day, those letters sit in a folder.  They don’t get sent, they just get written.  Some are filled with anger.  Some are filled with a sadness, with loss. 

Most days I shake my head.  Addiction has no one target, it doesn’t save itself to latch on to the ones clearly more susceptible to joining forces with. 

Of the two of us, I would have been the one to have had the higher risk to fall into the fold of that world. 

I am a product of addiction.  Every ounce of who I am today was formed in the drunken shadows – a child who was an afterthought and the next drink was all that mattered.  It’s a world I know and I know it all too well. 

He didn’t come from that, he was good.  He had everything a happy, successful professional could want. He knew how to be an adult, he didn’t have to guess at it. 

Somehow I am here and he is there. 

I’ve spent my life fighting my way out of the darkness my mother raised me in.  He walked head first to a world he didn’t have to.

 It’s eating him alive and all I can do is bust out the popcorn and say I fucking told you this would happen. 

Brilliant as he may be in the normal adult world, he has no business being in the addiction world.  They are not worlds cut from the same cloth and those of us who know this world, know-how to the play the game. 

It’s survival and those of us who are now the adults of that world can’t be beat by over confident newbies who throw away that nice, boring, stable and comfortable life for the life of an addict. 

Take the hit and go back to your world where you belong.  How many more times do I have to be right before the ah-ha moment hits. 

Or will he end up dead next time? 




Fuck This


Today is hard.  It just is.  It didn’t start that way and I don’t think it will stay that way, this moment of this day – that’s what’s hard.

I miss him and not in the surface way that finds a way to wiggle its way to the surface, like it has  over the past few weeks.  This is a deep to the core missing him.  Maybe it’s missing what could have and should have been, when the addiction wasn’t his mistress. 

All I want right now is for none of this to be happening, I want to not be living in this.  I miss him, not the shit show it’s been.

Done with that.

I have so much to say and not. one. fucking. thing.  I’ve said it all and saying it again, doesn’t mean it will be heard.  It will just take the attention off of myself. 

I need to sit with right now.  Ground myself and believe everything doesn’t have to be black or white. 

Prison jump suits can be black and white, maybe he is channeling me from jail.  Maybe I should go to Starbucks and get a coffee, because I can.

That’s a good enough reason, right?  Fuck Ya.