In the spirit of helping others through shared pain and truth may this find you if you’re struggling too and may it bring you solace to know you’re not alone in your pain, fear and confusion.
I hate this waiting room. It feels like dirty mop water. There’s a heat vent that’s broken and rattling. This room sounds like agony, desperation and loneliness. I hate the smell of the bathroom too. It smells like the floral bouquet perfume of a grandmother I never had. We’re sitting in the center of the miserable room and there are doors on all sides of us. Some of the doors will lead to fates that cannot be undone. To the left and right of us are doors that have the potential to hold freedom and pain in equal measure. The folks that sign in have courage. Even if it’s only for a moment. Even if it’s fleeting. The trembling, the scared, and the faked bravado alike held a pen and signed their name to hope.
You have muchness baby-girl. Don’t ever forget that shit. But you’re tired. I can see it. I didn’t have to try and convince, encourage, threaten or reward you. When I picked you up and told you I was taking you back to rehab you simply asked, “Did you pack a bag?”
I did.
Swiftly and carelessly I grabbed a handful of things out of each drawer and shoved them in a bag, tossing deodorant, a toothbrush and a bar of soap in on my way out the door. Vastly different from the first time I packed your bag; washing everything you owned. I meticulously sorted and folded everything. Then mated all your socks and folded your undies; sealing them in separate zip lock bags. I made sure you had 7 pairs of pants, 7 tees, & 7 hoodies. I packed playing cards and fidgets, magazines, books and your favorite candy. I bought you all new hygiene products because I wanted you to have full bottles, and hair that smelled like love and summer.
I’m not stupid.
I know when you go to rehab they ram-sack your shit to make sure you’re not bringing in anything that could harm you or others. But when I packed your first bag I didn’t care that my tireless efforts would be undone in careful searches for paraphernalia.. I had other intentions for when those nurses unpacked your bag; I wanted them to feel how much you are loved. I needed them to feel my intense, fearless, patient, unselfish, hurt and unconditional love. Each folded and tucked item was placed in that fucking bag. I poured ME into that bag and tied it with a bow, sealing myself inside for you and everyone else to find so when they opened that bag they would get hit with the knowledge that you come from love and you have not been left behind to fend for yourself. I wanted them to feel my strong and ferocious unyielding super power: not giving up on you. I wanted everyone to know that even at your ugliest points you’ve owned my heart.
It’s different this time. I'm angry. And I’m aware. I'm so fucking aware. And I realized that little by little your socially unacceptable, irresponsible, inconsiderate and blatant disrespectful behavior has become our new normal; I'm desensitized to it. I realized that in my attempt to let you be free to “find yourself” somehow I’ve compromised my own boundaries, comfort, and morals. This suddenly feels like an abusive relationship. With me, the abused, feeling full of hope because you show me extra kindness the day after striking me down. My eyes are open and I’m fully awake. Because much like an abuser, you believe your own lies. Much like an abuser you hurt the people you love the most. Much like an abuser you will take advantage of my love for you if I let you.
I used to think if I had to choose between you and me I would choose you every time- and for many years I did. But I don’t choose you. I choose me. I want my life back. And, so while I understand- truly, that you’re uncomfortable in rehab and you don’t have everything you want or need, I’m not going to sacrifice my free time to bring it to you. And- it’s not yours anyway. It doesn’t belong to you. You don’t have any money. Everything that’s “yours” I own. So, maybe I’ll sell it all to recoup the money your drug addiction has cost me. Can you tell I'm angry?
God I love you. But I need to shut you out for now so I can exist. You and I have been standing together on a slope that leads to a rabbit hole. I’ve been holding your hand but everyday you slip a bit and get a bit heavier, and I am hanging onto you as tight as I can with everything I have. But I have to let go because you and your bags are so fucking heavy. You are so heavy that I'm going to fall in with you, or tear in half. So I have to catch my breath, and rest, and regain my strength. And you- you my love are going to have to drop your bags and climb. And I will meet you again.
