Sometimes I’d tell myself that since I didn’t drink alone, or every night, or whatever other random barometer I chose, it wasn’t a problem, but it was. It didn’t matter how much I was drinking per se, but that I was drinking for the wrong reasons.
When you’ve spent your whole life learning how to survive there are times when you just need another person to allow you to tell the stories you’ve needed to tell someone else your whole life.
Heroin is a growing problem in rural America.
So, I have kind of a problem with impulse control.
When someone tells you that you deserve better, they are telling you to move on because they don’t care enough to be better. They will not put in the effort or energy they KNOW you deserve.
That’s the thing about addiction; it creates an illusion of invincibility. It seems like nothing can happen, nothing can be ruined as long as you both are completely intertwined.
They say that love is enough to conquer anything but heroin has proven to our family that love is most certainly not enough.
I don’t know when he went off the rails. I do know that he got so good at lying that no one — not his family, not our friends, not our marriage counselor and most certainly not I — suspected that he had two separate lives.
I learned these lessons the hard way.
I wanted to be drunk on him. I wanted an addiction to form.