writing is the art of the soul.

I'm bubbling with pride at the moment. I feel like my life is finally coming together. So you all know that I've been running Women for Sobriety (WFS) meetings at my local detox centre for the women in there. I guess a woman's shelter heard about me somehow and called to see if I could run WFS at their shelter once a week. It is such a wonderful, humbling, rewarding opportunity. I feel such happiness that my volunteering is making a difference. Not only that, it's saving people. There is one woman from detox who since attending the meeting I run, has been sober ever since. She's the only one so far, but only if I only save on life, it will be worth it.

I'm also going to be an aunt in less than 3 months! I'm so excited that I am sober and alive to be a part of the baby's life. I want my niece to be to have a role model in me, and I finally feel like I'm worthy of that title.

And on top of all that, my writing for both Substance for You and Sisters in Serenity and Sobriety is going amazingly well. I had two WFS members call me today to tell me how incredibly talented I am. I wouldn't go that far with it, but it's nice to be praised for my writing. Writing to me is taking all the negative, unhealthy, toxic energy from inside me and expelling it onto paper in the form of words, sentences and paragraphs. Writing is the soul's art. I am just honored to be able to express my soul in such a way that touches other people's lives.

I've missed you all, but I'm so happy to say that I'm feeling good. Except for the cold I have, but I'm in such a great mood, I don't even care about it.

Much love, xx.

i imagine my dreams before me, mine.

Warning: This poem is very violent sounding. It was intended to purge all of my anger the other day, so that is why it is full of such hatred. Just a warning so you all don't think I'm a psycho killer or something! Plus, as you will see, the whole idea was self-harm/death, not towards others.

I'm angry, frustrated

Annoyingly so

I imagine beating her senseless

I'm angry, pissed off

Aggressively so

I imagine the slitting of her throat

I'm angry, hurt

Painfully so

I imagine her slow death

I'm angry, enraged

Brutally so

I imagine watching the life leave her eyes

I'm angry, hateful

Deadly so,

I imagine laughing at her funeral

I'm angry, depressed

Overwhelmingly so

I imagine that she is me

I'm alive, enlightened

Breathtakingly so

I imagine my dreams before me.

Mine.  

my insides are screaming at me to just get high.

So good news! I'm feeling much better. 

The other day sort of got way out of hand when I had to speak to my brother about his drinking and talking to me while drunk. He's down visiting from out of town but has come home wasted almost every night this week.  It's just so frustrating and triggering when he talks to me like that. And for some reason the conversation always comes back to my recovery. So I'm talking to a person who's just waxed about not being waxed...it's awkward. Especially because my insides are screaming at me to just go get high so I can be in the same state. It sucks. So when I asked him not to, things got out of control and we fought. So I was in a bad mood and then sort of got into it with the guy who runs the site I've been writing for. It was mostly my fault and I escalated it pretty quick because of the two things happening around the exact same time. I feel bad about it, but everything is back to normal so that's good.

Anyways, not only do I get to write for Substance for You, I've also been asked to write for Sisters of Serenity and Sobriety, which is another huge website. It feels really good that my writing is being so well perceived. I feel really proud.

I've been missing you all, being so busy with everything I've sort of been neglecting my own blog, so my goal is to catch up with all three.

Hope all is well with everyone!

Much love, xx.

to just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body.

Seriously? Go fuck yourself. Like I have bad days too, I don't need people bitching at me because I have a simple fucking request. It's so annoying. I have more bad days than good lately and I don't take it out on other people. Maybe it's because I take it out on myself, but still, that's better than being a passive aggressive little fuck.

Ugh, now my day's turned shitty. I think I'm going to go smoke about 15 cigarettes then have a nap. Why does addiction and bulimia have to have such a strong grip on my life? It just makes me miserable. Do you know how much easier it would be to just give into it? To just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body?

Fuck....I just miss it so much. I feel like I lost a best friend or something. Or an husband. My addiction was my love and my life and being separated from it sometimes is just unbearable. I'm not going to relapse but I want to. I want to so so bad.

her forever exhaustion written clearly on her once flawless face.

Back When She Was Beautiful: Part One

She was beautiful once. It was a long time ago. Before she sold her soul to the monster. The devil. It was back when her eyes sparkled with life and love. Before the light burnt out and the life was stolen from her. Stolen and given away to the pills. To the needle. To the tin foil and the pipes. To the street. She once strove for thinness, cursed with curves. But now she's too skinny. All ribs, gaunt, hollow face. Her porcelain skin once glowing, now pale and marked. The scars she sliced into her arm now match the scars on her heart and soul. Cuts that sliced deeply inside and out. The needle she's become a slave to punctures her skin, piercing her veins, leaving track marks down her neck. Down her mind. A complexion once clear is marked with blemishes, imperfections. Dark circles rim her dead eyes. Her forever exhaustion written clearly on her once flawless face. She thought dope would make her more stunning, perfect. She was wrong when she thought it would give her everything, back when she was beautiful.

i looked death in the face and made it out alive.

http://substanceforyou.com/from-struggle-to-success/

Here's a link to another article of mine. Please read and like/share it with anyone you know.

it's not thinness or fat, it's life or death.

Here is my most recent post for the Substance For You website. :)

The definition of eating disorders is a broad term that encompasses the many types of eating disorders, including bulimia and anorexia nervosa, binge eating disorder, atypical anorexia and eating disorders not otherwise specified (EDNOS). On their own eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illnesses and can result in serious health consequences, suicide, and death. That is to say, simply having only an eating disorder is extremely dangerous. They are even more dangerous when co-occurring with other mental illnesses.

Co-morbidity is defined as 'the presence of one or more additional disorders (or diseases) co-occurring with a primary disease or disorder'. Eating disorders have a high co-morbidity rate with other severe mental illnesses, such as depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Which means someone with an eating disorder is likely to suffer from other mental disorders along with whichever eating disorder they struggle with.

According to the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA), substance abuse disorder has the highest co-morbidity rate along with eating disorders. NEDA states that nearly 50 percent of individuals with an eating disorder also abuse drugs and alcohol, which is a rate five times higher than the general population. This means that someone with an eating disorder of any type is five times more likely to develop an addiction than the average man or woman. Due to the fact that both eating disorders and addiction are correlated with higher instances of death, having both is extremely life-threatening and needs to be treated as soon as possible.

For me, I had my eating disorder long before my addiction came into the picture. I developed depression and anxiety as well at a very young age. I can't remember a time where I didn't feel some sort of depression or anxious feeling. I believe this along with extremely low self-esteem and a higher body weight, led to feelings of body dissatisfaction. This hatred for my body is the reason I went to extreme dieting to lose over 100 pounds in less than one year. This weight loss is also when my bulimia nervosa developed. It was so easy to fix any 'mistakes' I made in eating by purging anything I ate that was considered 'forbidden'. I no longer needed to worry about cheating on my diet because I had found this loophole in the system. I felt like I had discovered some secret ingredient to a perfect body and I continued this behaviour to this day, ignoring the negative effects it has had on my health.

That feeling of discovering something 'incredible' is almost the exact same feeling I had when I had my first line of Oxycontin. It was around five years after I developed bulimia that I started using opiates to numb any pain I felt. I dealt with a lot of death in a short span of time and drugs were my way to cope. I couldn't bear losing my grandma, dog, and dad all in a few months. I promised myself I would finish school to make my dad proud, at any cost. My freedom was that cost.

I started using in December of 2011 around exam time. I needed to be up studying for most of the night. Having been dating someone who was involved in the drug lifestyle, I knew all about Oxy's and how dangerous they were. I had seen up close the toll they took on people's lives. But for some reason, I didn't care. Or maybe I did care but I thought I was intelligent enought to trick the system and be just fine. Regardless of what I thought would happen, I knew two things. One was that they would help me stay awake studying. I knew that if I did a line here or there, my grades would sky rocket. And two, I knew I'd feel much better than I did at the time. I felt so alone and depressed, I think I was willing to try anything, no matter how bad it was for me.

For a time using worked wonders in my life. My grades improved immensely for a while. I would stay up rocked out of my mind studying and doing assignments all night and actually enjoying it. I would go to class feeling amazing. The drugs heightened everything and boring classes became these incredible lectures that I needed to hear. I no longer felt depressed. In fact, I felt pretty amazing. I remember my brother making a comment to my mom about how well I was doing with my dad's passing. I even recall laughing about that comment to myself in a sick way.

'Ha! If only they knew my secret!' I thought.

Not only did my mood and grades improve, my weight loss did too. Using pills made me feel somewhat full all the time. I felt absolutely no desire to eat anything. As long as I was high, I didn't need anything else at all. Sometimes I would even do too much and would be too sick to eat. Those moments of what I considered sickness was only a hint at was coming my way.

The first time I felt withdrawal I didn't know what it was. I woke up feeling sick, fidgety and sore. I couldn't keep anything down and I could not stay still for the life of me. My legs jumped around, completely restless. I didn't think anything of it because almost as soon as I got up, I was doing lines of Oxy. It took a while for me to connect the dots: if I use, that feeling goes away. If I was smart, I would have gotten out then before it was too late, but I didn't.

My addiction fed into my eating disorder for another three to four years. I would wake up, use, not eat, study, binge, purge, use, starve. Repeat. After a while though, the positive effects of using wore off. It took more and more to get high. More and more to feel normal. I had never felt anything like the sickness I felt when I didn't have any drugs. But my weight was extremely low, so I didn't care. I didn't care about living or dying, as long as I was thin and somewhat high, life was okay. I started missing more and more school and spending more and more money on dope. Things were starting to fall apart all ready. My grades went down to an all time low. I had to drop out of classes because I missed to many classes and had no idea what I was doing. My life was getting chaotic and out of control.

My dysfunctional relationship was getting more dysfunctional by the day. He was a drinker and my dealer (although he didn't know it at the time) and the more we abused substances together, the more erratic our relationship got. I wouldn't consider him abusive, but many would. I was okay with it though, because when I would get high, I would get mean. I'd even fight back when things got violent. And as much as I loved him, I needed him more. I completely started to use him because I knew no other way to get drugs. My eating disorder and addiction became more important than he and my family did. I didn't care about anyone. Not even myself. I wanted to punish myself for all the horrible things I had been doing by doing more and more.

Eventually my mom and ex-boyfriend gave me an ultimatum: get help or get out. So I checked myself into detox, paid for by both my mom and ex. I stayed for the five days in excruciating pain, planning the day I'd get out so I could get some more drugs. Finally the day came when I was released. My first stop was to pick up two new friends who were addicts too. This is when I first stuck a needle in my arm. I had gone through the progression of using, from snorting to smoking to injecting. I knew that moment that there was no going back. I was a full-blown junkie and there was nothing that could change that. Or so I thought.

I hid my use for a month or so before being kicked out by first my mom and then my ex. I had no place to go except my car. I ended up homeless and couch surfing for about five months in 2014. At this time, any money I got went into my veins so I had no time or way of eating. My weight sank to an new all time low. I looked so sick, and part of me loved it. I loved the harsh look of my bones and track marks. I wore them with pride. But as time went on like this, I sank in to a lower depression. I started to hate myself and my life even more. I felt so hopeless that I wanted to die. All I wished for was an accidental; overdose so I wouldn't have to face my horrible life anymore.

Finally I got my wish. The 'friends' I was staying with assaulted me and threw me out. Broken, battered and alone, I sought help form my mom. I hadn't spoken to her in months and just the sound of her voice made me cry. I realized then how much I missed my family, my friends.

I finally got help, went to treatment for my addiction and traumas, found a Women for Sobriety chapter in my city and never looked back. I knew that I had to get help for my eating disorder as well, however, otherwise I would relapse. They fed into each other immensely, so I needed to treat both or risk being back out on the streets. I am currently still in outpatient treatment for my bulimia and am almost 11 months sober. I honestly couldn't be happier. I know there is a long way to go still, but I can truly say it is worth it.

One thing I know is that if someone is struggling with one of these mental illnesses, they need to seek help. And if someone is suffering from both, or has a different co-occurring disorder, your life is in serious jeopardy. I urge everyone to get help, it may be tough, but it's treatment or death. The statistics prove that the choice is isn't thinness or fat, high or not. It is life or death.  

music plays the moments, pauses the memories, stops the pain and rewinds happiness.

I've always been a music lover. Music has always been a way for me to cope. I listen to songs that express my mood or that inspire me. I've always loved songs that are eating disorder related, as seen by older posts about Marianas Trench. The lead singer is bulimic but also  had a heroin addiction. So after my own addiction developed, their songs took on a whole new meaning for me. I could related to them in both ways and I felt like they were written for me, about me, or by me. Something about his lyrics really touched my soul.

I could so easily feel his pain, his struggles, his triumphs, his set backs, etc. Every single word was etched into my own heart and mind.

Now that I am sober (almost 11 months!!!!!), some music is hard for me to listen to. I've always loved rap about dope dealing as well as songs about being an addict or using drugs. So it's sort of hard to listen to the ones that almost promote using. But I can't seem to stop myself. I love the songs too much to change the channel when they come on. They get stuck in my head.

I think I like them because they also give me this false boost in my confidence. I listen to them and remember my past when I was a somewhat big shot in the drug world. At least, behind scenes anyways. It takes me back to driving around selling or, more recently, buying. I just go right back to every single high moment where we'd drive around bumping music about drugs and just have a blast. It's like we glorified and intensified our use buy listening to songs about selling dope. So listening to them now it brings me back to those days when I thought I was so cool. It was like I had a secret that nobody else got to know. I felt special. It felt amazing to sort of know exactly what the songs where saying when most other people wouldn't make the connection. I felt like I was privy to top secret, cool kid information. And it almost gave me a bigger high than just being ripped did.

So I listen to them, I think, to try and acheive that same high again. I can't have the dope, but I can still have the songs about dope. And sometimes it does give me that same satisfaction. That same natural high.

But other times it's nothing more than a bad trigger. The music doesn't seem good enough and I want more. I think, this music would be better if I had some pills, coke, ice, whatever. And so starts a craving cycle.

I don't know if I should stop. Should I avoid any songs that make using seem like a dope thing to do (excuse the pun)? Or should I keep doing it. Sometimes I justify it by thinking that it's better to listen to the music than to actually go out and get high. I don't know. I'm so torn about this. I don't want to give it up. I feel like it's one of the last pieces I have of my addiction and I'm clinging on to them like they're my life.

Much love, xx.

defeat your enemies with your success.

So in recent posts I've mentioned those key players in my life last year. You know, the ones who took me in when I was homeless. The ones that taught me how to shoot up, the ones who stuck needles in my neck. The ones I considered my using family.

I haven't been able to keep them in my life, no matter how much I may miss them. As I've said before, we were bonded in our addictions, but not bonded in recovery. So in order to protect myself, I had to let them go. The best thing they did for me was kick my ass and leave me broken on the side of the road. Had they not  hurt me in that way, I'd still be out there using. Or more likely, dead in a ditch somewhere in this grim border city.

I was at the methadone clinic to see my addictions doctor. I ended up running into not just one, but three people I knew. One of them was my ex's mom. I had been told by him that she hated me. I was accused of stealing stuff from her car (which I swear on my dad's grave I didn't). So when she called me over and started talking to me I was so incredibly relieved. She even hugged me and invited me to come over at anytime to see her. I agreed. When she left, I sat down and almost had a complete breakdown. It just brought so many emotions to the surface. She used to consider me her daughter in law, that's how serious this relationship had been. We weren't married and didn't really want to be, but it was this love that you only get one time. So I just didn't know how to feel. I missed him, I missed her. I was happy to see her, but sad that she was in the same position as before. I was happy she was getting sober, but saddened that she had to work a minimum wage job now that his dad has passed away. I managed to keep it together, but just barely.

Just as I was calming down, Trelaine, that slut-faced bitch that slammed my head into the ground walks in. I was just overwhelmed with anger and fear. I didn't know what she would do to me if she recognized me. Lucky for me, I don't think she really did. But just as I thought she had left, Dan, the guy I had been sort of seeing strolls in too. He walked passed me so many times and didn't even look at me! I know there's absolutely no way he wouldn't recognize me unless he was so rocked out of his mind that he didn't recognize anyone. But then it got worse. Trelaine came back and started talking to him. Last summer they barely knew each other, but that had clearly changed.

Finally, as I was  waiting for my meds, Dan stood directly beside me. I didn't say a word. As much as I wanted to ream him out, I also didn't need the drama. He's such a scumbag to me that I couldn't even be bothered. I'd have defended myself if I needed to, but I wasn't going to start anything. It's just not me, But then I felt her behind me and suddenly she was laughing. He turned as asked what was so funny, and then finally his eyes fell onto me slightly. That's when I knew...they were laughing at me.

I left as soon as I had my script in my hands and just got the hell out of there. I was such an emotional wreck. Angered at them, pitying them, missing them, hating them, etc. I was so upset that they laughed at me. I did nothing to them. In fact, I drove them around for months and shared dope with them! I even slept with that douche bag. Which is the only regret I have sexually. I don't regret anything like that, except him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

But then I got home and was telling my mom about it. Suddenly. as I was telling her I had this huge realization. Why should I care if they were laughing at me?! In all reality, if I was a bad person, it would be me laughing at them. They're the ones still out there using, hustling, lying, hurting and struggling every single day. And although my life isn't close to perfect, I have way more than they do. So since I'm not the horrible person they may think I am, I can't laugh at them. It's just not my nature. I no longer care that they laughed or if they like me or not. And I wouldn't ever wish ill on them.

This has just been such a lesson in gratitude. It took them being hurtful towards me for me to realize that in terms of things to be happy and grateful for, I have an abundance when they have none. So I will continue on with my own life, wishing well for them, but not caring so much about the things they may or may not do to me.

the road to success comes from hard work, determination and sacrifice.

I'm SO excited today! I don't think I've felt this good in a long, long time. I feel almost manic. If I didn't have good, exciting news, I'd be a bit worried about myself. Especially since I was put on a new mood stabilizer called Abilify.

Anyway, I had the meeting with the detox program coordinator today. And everything went very well! In fact, I start hosting the Women For Sobriety meetings there tomorrow! I couldn't believe it. I thought for sure that he would have to think everything over and then get back to me. So the fact that he said 'can we start this week?' was just a lovely shock.

I'm so thrilled about it and have been getting myself ready for tomorrow. I want to host the meeting as best as I can because I know that the other women in WFS are counting on me to spread the message in a professional, proficient manner. Plus, I feel that if I screw up, it could cost someone their sobriety. I need to really make sure I do well, but also not to get too much involved with each person. I know that the statistics for recovery are grim, so I can't expect that they will all get and stay sober. But I'm definitely going to keep my optimistic attitude and hope. I know that all it takes is someone to believe in you to make you believe in yourself. And then from there, recovery can seem like a possibility. I've taken this job on to help other women in need. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I just feel so great about it. I'm just so proud of myself. I can't believe it.
Wish me luck!

Much love, xx.

dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.

Today is Father's Day.

Ever since my dad passed away in 2011, I have spent these days alone. My dad was never a big gift guy, but I know he appreciated knowing we loved him. I never told my dad that I loved him nearly enough. I regret that I didn't tell him every single day.  Because now I don't have the option of hugging his big belly and holding on forever.

I miss my dad so much it hurts. This is my first sober Father's Day, so maybe I'm feeling overly emotional because I don't have anything to numb the pain. I had the option of going to my cousins to have dinner with my aunt (his sister) and uncle, cousins and their kids. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Some of it was eating disorder related. I had such panic about eating in front of them now that they know I have bulimia. But I think a bigger part of it was I couldn't bear to watch them celebrate this day with smiles. My cousin is double my age and still has his father. I know that shouldn't bother me. But it does. It makes me so incredibly angry and jealous. Why should he get his dad when me and my younger brother lost ours so young? It's not fair. And I don't think I could have hidden my resentment today. So I didn't go.

Instead I'm sitting here alone wishing I could get high. It doesn't help that the only person I really have to talk to is drunk. It's not easy to be around people who are intoxicated when all you want is to obliterate your feelings and sink into that  magical place between reality and dreamland. I would spend all day hanging in the middle, suspended on a cozy web of bliss, peace, and safety. Stuck in the place where nothing matters but the drugs pumping through your veins with each beat of your slowed, relaxed heart. So I'm angry and not speaking to her now.

I wish I could say that I want to get over it and be happy. I wish I could say I think my dad would be proud of how far I've come. But I feel like those would be lies. Today I don't feel like changing my negative thoughts or trying to be positive person in recovery. Today I just feel like sitting alone wishing my dad was here. And there's nothing in the world that can change that.

I love you dad. I miss you like crazy. Happy Father's Day. You will always be my king, my heart, my dad.

be the change you wish to see in the world.

In recent posts I had been talking about Women for Sobriety and volunteering to host meetings for the women at my local detox. At the time the program coordinator had not yet replied to my two attempts at contacting him. I was frustrated and a bit let down. I was worried that he was an adamant 12 step sort of guy and didn't want WFS coming in.

 Now don't think I'm putting the 12 steps down, I'm absolutely not. They help many people get and stay sober. So if it works for someone, great. I feel each individual has the choice to do whatever the feel keeps them sober. I'm just saying that many people do not know anything other than AA/NA/CA. There are some (not all) 12 steppers that think that the only thing that works is NA/AA and won't be open or willing to try or learn about other options. I personally never could connect to NA. I really tried to because many experts praise and recommend 12 step meetings, sponsors, etc. But in the end, it was not for me. There were some things I liked, but many more things I didn't. I gave it a long, honest try and it just wasn't helping. Sometimes I'd even come home feeling worse than I did before.

I was so, so fortunate to discover Women for Sobriety and to attend a meeting. I was even more lucky that we had a local meeting in my small, shitty city. Those meetings, the 13 affirmations, and the women both in my group and online have totally helped me save my life. They made me see how much I have to offer, how much good I am and have, and how much I had in my life. I always left feeling just absolutely wonderful, positive, strong, and filled with this incredible refreshing energy to get through the week and any problem. They even are supporting my treatment for my bulimia. The women there just ooze positivity, health, recovery, intelligence and compassion. They're every quality I respect and hope to be.

Now, before I finally got sober and found WFS I was in detox. While I was there they hosted one or two 12 step meetings per week. When I got out, I went straight back out to use and stuck a needle in my arm for the first time. I'm not saying that the 12 step meeting wasn't helpful. It was. But it also wasn't what I needed for my recovery, especially at that time. Since finding WFS I often ponder this and wonder, 'If there had been a Women for Sobriety meeting, would I have stayed sober?' I may not have, but there's also the chance I could have prevented that whole summer downfall. There's no point in dwelling on the past. There's nothing I can change about my story. But, I can change this for someone else in the future. So this is why I want to host a meeting there so badly. I'm extremely passionate about raising awareness for other meeting/treatment options. Especially for women.

One of my issues was that I rarely felt comfortable sharing every part of my story in a group full of mostly men. There are many women who feel the same. So I think it's important that there is an all women option where they can discuss traumas, abuse, rape, etc. with only women. They need a place where they will be met with understanding, empathy and will be safe. Women for Sobriety is that place. And of course anybody is more than welcome to attend  both WFS and NA/AA/CA. I don't want to encourage people not to attend those meetings, I simply just want to show women and others that there is another option for them out there (there is Men for Sobriety too, by the way).

Anyway, I'm extremely happy because I finally heard back from the program coordinator. He wants to set up a meeting with me to discuss things. I'm feeling hopeful. The woman who forwarded my message to him said that they're lucky to have 'such a wonderful opportunity.' I know it wouldn't hurt to have us come in, and would certainly do some good. Not only for the women in detox, but for me as well. Plus, there has recently been more requests for WFS meeting information. I'm excited to talk with him and discuss the benefits of this. I want this so badly it hurts. I'm going to start preparing so that when I go I'll be fully ready to answer any questions, concerns, etc. Our detox needs this. Women need this. And it thrills me to be the one to finally start this awareness movement. It just makes me feel proud. It will make my recovery so much more fulfilled to be able to help others and give back.

This has totally brought me out of my down mood. So today, I'm celebrating this success.

Much love, xx.

an over-indulgence of anything, even something as pure as water, can intoxicate.

So it is clear to see that I am one who lives for over-indulgence. I've done it with food, drugs, booze, sleep, drama, fun, danger, etc. I've even over-indulged in love. And the more I grow, the more I see that love was the most dangerous intoxicant of them all. Even dope isn't as dangerous as love was to me.

Most would say that my last relationship was abusive. And in many ways, it probably was. So why is it that I can't see that? Why do I still think that he's the one that got away? The one that I was meant to be with had I not blown it and chosen drugs over him? I don't know if I'll ever fully understand.

When I got sober, we hadn't spoken in months. Just before I went into rehab, I sent him a message letting him know I was safe, clean and getting help. I called him the night before. He was with a girl. it made me absolutely furious. I wanted to go and slit her throat. I know, that sounds just plain horrid, scary, and messed up of me. But I'm only being honest, that was my first thought. Obviously I would never do it. After he hung up because of her protesting, I broke down into uncontrollable tears. Thinking, 'I couldn't go to rehab now! I need to be home so that I can convince him to come back to me. I can't be away, what if he messages me and wants me back and I'm not there to get it?' I wished I hadn't called. I knew it would hurt me, but I didn't care. I wanted the pain over nothing. I wanted to drown in that love induced pain and hurt.

I ended up going to treatment and sort of put it in the back of my mind. I knew that if I thought about the truth, it would rip me wide open and I couldn't handle that. I talked about every other trauma in my life except that. When my counselor asked me if there's anything unresolved with my ex, I lied and said no. Saying no and having her believe me was the best acting performance of my life. Just being asked about him brought me to the verge of tears and a massive breakdown. How I managed a smile and a 'no' with my throat closing, choking on a sob is beyond me. I guess years of fake smiles and manipulation paid off. Or ripped me off, if you think about it.

It was something I needed to deal with and didn't. So after rehab, I just kept him in the back of my mind, never letting him come to the front. Once and a while thoughts would slip in and I'd lose it. I couldn't listen to love songs, break up songs, or any songs we both liked. I'd go insane. Anywhere I went reminded me of him. Even some shows were off limits. It was like if I didn't think about it, the pain and reality wouldn't be there. I even banned myself from facebook. I was scared to have messages from him. Or worse, none at all.

So one day, something came over me. I felt this crazy urge to read my facebook, to get it over with. The not knowing and keeping it locked away would cause knots in my stomach almost everyday. I needed to check. Needless to say, there were messages. But not what I thought. They were sad messages, messages of love, and pain and hurt. He still loved me. He doesn't love her. I replied, months after they had been sent and told him what had happened with me, how I was, and how I felt. I told him that I wanted to keep our promise. We always swore that we would always be in each other's lives regardless of anything that happened.

I decided that I couldn't lose him again. It would kill me. Months of ignoring it had somehow let me sort of come to terms with another girl being there. Don't get me wrong, I still hate her and have awful pangs of jealousy here and there, but I was somewhat okay with that fact. I knew I'd rather have him as a friend than not to have him at all. So again, I chose to indulge in that love induced pain.
It's like I can't stand not having things, especially in excess. It was more scary to me to just let him go and learn to be okay alone that to have him but not be able to be his girl again. I'd rather be hurt in unimaginable ways to keep him, than to feel nothing and let it go.

And let me tell you, it hurts. It hurts almost daily, but I can't stop. I can't stop smothering myself in love, hate, pain, and tears. I will indulge in it as long as I can. Bad for me or not. I mean, nothing bad for me has never stopped me before. If anything, those 'bad things' encouraged me. They only made it more intoxicating. Like the thrill of doing something illegal and getting away with it.

So even though he caused pain and still does so, I will not let him go. I need him in my life. I don't care how other people viewed our relationship. I loved him in ways most people can't imagine. And he loved me. We fought hard, but we loved harder. That's just who we were. And I wouldn't change it for the world.

But why do I do these things? Why can't I just be okay with normal amounts? Will I always be doomed to be a gluttonous person who can't do anything in moderation? I suppose not, because I seem to only be able to function in extremes. I can do things in all or nothing ways. Never anything in between. With drugs it was do it all or don't do any. Same with love, booze, sleep, whatever. I guess I just think in very black and white terms. I don't know if I'll ever learn to enjoy the grey areas of life.

Much love, xx.

 The two of us on vacation. He'd kill me if he knew I shared this!

He may be bad for me, but I don't know if I could say no. I should say no. I should run the other way. But with my track record of over-indulgence, no isn't often a word I use.

This is sort of true, but at the same time, being his everything and doing anything for him made me feel bright and shiny. And I was his everything too. So it wasn't one sided.

I don't know if this one is true, but I hope it is. Either with someone else, or him. As long as it's true.

you cannot hang out with negative people and expect a positive life.

I've been thinking about my last year using. Like really thinking about it. I think it has a lot to do with my continued depression and down days. Usually they only last a day or two and then I snap back into a positive mood. But for some reason, I've been stuck in this low for a long time now. Longer than normal. I don't know if thinking about it brought it on, or if thinking about it is what is keeping it on or what. All I know is I'm feeling down, sad, and like giving up and I can't stop thinking about the 'good old days'.

These memories come on when I'm talking, especially when talking about something drug related or back from that time period. They start when I'm craving, which ends up increasing the time and intensity of the craving, making it ten times worse. But mostly, I get vivid, powerful memories when I listen to music. Anything I listened to daily during last summer instantly brings me right back there. Some songs bring me back to bad things and I have to change it immediately. Others bring me back to the times when I had a blast. Although that overall time was a nightmare, there were also many times where me and my friends had an absolute riot. 

This brings me to my friends, just as my memories do every time. I met most of them through this idiot, Dan, I was seeing/was friends with. But he turned out to be a pathological liar and would often get arrested or show up places only to have his mother pick him up a few minutes later for 'sneaking out.' He was 28 years old, just to clarify why this was so pathetic and annoying. She would also call the police, which as you know, is never something you want when you're a needle using junkie. Anyways, there were about 6 or 7 key players at this time of my life. Let me introduce them.

1. Angus, 39: Dan's friend from rehab. He was an ex-con from a federal prison. He robbed a bank with a shot gun, among-st other things. He was the first guy to fix me up (which I think creates a strange bond between people because you trust them and then experience that first exquisite high together; it's almost intimate in a way). He became a good friend and often let me sleep there when I had no place to go. We stole together, got high together, were sick together, but never ever slept together. I didn't want to cross that line. He was cool shit, but would go into psychosis whenever using any ups. 
2. Krystle, 34: Angus's wife (sort-of?). I met her when she reappeared in his life out of nowhere. I was getting sick of him, as he was me since I had been there too long. She needed a ride home, so in return, she got me crystal (meth)/Xanax and let me sleep over. We somehow really bonded that night. She was tiny, tough, and very ill.
3. John A ?: Friend of Angus's from a different town. I met him when he got out of jail and stopped by looking to pick-up. He introduced us to his connect, who had a good supply of pills and meth. He also stopped by randomly high as a kite and was annoying as hell when he did meth. He was a nice guy though and meant well. He'd help me get drugs and money when I couldn't. The second person I let fix me up. He was also a kleptomaniac. So he'd often help us steal, but wasn't trustworthy otherwise. 
4. Rodney, 50: Rodney was John's connect. The second time I met him, I drove him 45 minutes away and back to pick up his supply of ice. He hooked us all up nicely for that. I did it again the next day, but alone. I told him I wanted pills, not crystal, since, it was my thing. This is how I met his girlfriend.
5. Kat, 32: Rodney's girl (which I didn't know until later). She was known as the 'pill girl'. She liked me instantly and gave me her number so I could call her directly. I did, often. She also sold ice. When her and Rodney set up shop together, I got really lucky. I'd drive them at least once per day to go get their 2 ounce supply and get a taste of it plus free pills, a place to stay, and often food. She was the only one I knew who actually had money. She reminded me of me back when I was dealing with my ex before I got caught up in the dope. She hustled hard and I respected her for it. They respected me. I was the only one who would find dope on the floor and give it back instead of stealing it. Plus, I had a car. And I knew how to inject other people. So she'd call me late at night, asking me to come fix her up. 'I'll pay you', she'd say.  I don't know why she took me in, but I'll be forever grateful to her for it. I think I reminded her of her too. Which is a scary though, her being exactly ten years older than me. It was like I was looking ahead into my dark future. 
6. Chris, 29: Lived below Angus. Was into me for a time, but hated me after I refused to sleep with him and chose to stay with Angus instead. I feel bad now. I was a bitch to him.
7. Trelaine, ?: Girl I met in detox before I met anyone else. She was a bit stuck up. But bought me Chinese food in there. Turned out, she knew Angus and started coming by near the end. She was a two-faced, lying, skank-bitch and I hate her.
8. Mike, Cutie, Romeo: Various dealers. 

So now that I've briefly introduced them (Which was extremely hard, since that time was chaotic and crazy and sort of interlaps each other. Plus, it's a bit fuzzy anyways),I'll get more to the point. Around that time these people were my life. They substituted my lost boyfriend, family, and friends. They knew who I was at that time and didn't mind. In fact they liked me. They were the first people to look right into the depths of my rotted soul and still want me around. It was the first time I felt accepted. We took care of each other, almost like a family, or gang. If we all couldn't get something, we'd all go without. We each had our skills and used them together in order to get money, drugs, smokes, gas, food, whatever (in that order). We laughed often, got sick often, and played often. We did horrible illegal things together and blamed the system for it. There was always so much drama and chaos and crazy, dangerous shit happening that I grew to thrive within all of it. I even trusted them with my life, having them shoot me up in my neck when I had no other veins. So now that it's gone and my life is simple and boring and sober, it's no wonder I often miss it. And them. They were friends, bonded together in our addictions.

 But the sad thing is, in active addiction, friend is such a loose term. When it comes down to it, we were all using each other to benefit ourselves. And when someone became a burden or was no longer useful, we threw them away like we threw away our old needles. Like we threw away our lives. We didn't care about our own lives, so why would we value others? So I guess in the end, we weren't useful to each other anymore. We had all exhausted our energy and resources. We had burnt out.

So at the very end, I was living with Angus and Krystle. It was a crazy mix because she often never took her medication for her bipolar disorder. It was exacerbated by the drugs and she would swing in and out of moods like it was nothing. One minute she'd love him, the next she hated us all. Then back again. It usually depended on what we had at that point. She also was an unpredictable thief. She'd often go in my purse and take my car keys. Or money. She even robbed Dan blind as he laid overdosing on the floor in her apartment. Then did all his drugs while I sat there sick and he was in the hospital. She wouldn't admit she'd done it. When I accused her, she told me to leave. I didn't and just backed down. She knew she had me and she knew I knew it too. 

Anyway, in early August she went to detox. She had to be rushed to the hospital because of withdrawal induced seizures. They told her that she'd have to get on Suboxone or methadone in order to get sober. So on August 11th, I drove her. She convinced me to get on the program too, at least so I wouldn't always be sick if we didn't have dope. I agreed. Angus got on it too. We all started talking about our happy, sober futures. We started to get hope, and hope can be a dangerous thing. The methadone helped me right away. I ended up sleeping for 95% of the day. I called my mom who I hadn't spoken to since May. I told her, I'm getting on the program and asked her to come to the appointments with me. She did. So on August 14th she gave me $20 for food and methadone. This was huge because I knew it meant she had hope to and was trusting that I would get sober. That day, we got into another stupid, pointless fight. But this time, Krystle declared to Angus that she'd had enough. It was his house, but his life was only happy when hers was. So he sort of agreed. She grabbed my keys and her Trelaine and Angus went to grab 'her stuff. When she came back in, I was in the bathroom. I came out and checked my purse. The money was gone. They told me to get out. I refused to. All I had was that money! I wasn't leaving until I got it back. So the two girls physically threw me out, smashed my head against the ground and left me there. I went to my car, hoping there was enough gas to get home. And hoping my mom would see my state and believe they had robbed me so that I could come back home. I knew they spent it on dope too. So much for our pact to get clean.

Thankfully my mom did let me in and I never used again after that point. I went to rehab, I forgave them. I moved on. I even went as far as apologizing for my part in it. I ended up seeing Krystle at the methadone clinic a month ago. She was in rough, rough shape. I was terrified when I saw her (having not apologized yet). I thought she'd steal my carries (bring home methadone for those who test clean) or kick my ass. Or both. Fear  and panic pumped through my body until she finally got up and said hi. She hugged me. I was stunned but I went along with it. I told her I had nine months clean and asked how she'd been. 'Starting over..' she said. 

Seeing her there and like that brought such a mix of emotions to me. I thought I had moved on but it was clear that moment that I hadn't. I felt sad for her. I pitied her. I missed her. I hated her. I wanted to help her. I wanted her to relapse. I didn't know how I felt. But I knew one thing, I was so, so grateful that she had literally thrown me out like that. If she hadn't I'd probably be in the exact same spot. Or worse. 

I have mixed feelings about all of them. They range from missing them, to hoping they get clean, to wanting them dead. But on days when I'm not happy in my recovery, I think about them the most. I often could cry thinking about them. Worrying about them. Wondering if they'd take me back. I miss the fun. The craziness. The danger. I miss our bonds.

But then I realize, we may have been bonded in addiction, but we obviously are not bonded in recovery. So I have to let it go and move on. All I can do now is wish them the best and take care of myself. Because as much as I miss them, I don't miss the sickness, the worry, the fear, the betrayals, the stealing (which I was always only the driver for), the pain, the fights, or the sleepless nights I sat up afraid to close my eyes. 

They will always be apart of me and my story in some way, but they can't be in the future chapters. 

Much love, xx.

progress is impossible without change; and those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.

So I've recently been pretty active on Blogger. I've gained two new follows, which is exciting. I'd be excited if even only one person read this mess of words about the craziness of my addiction and bulimia. I was reading a post on my blog when I realized that the layout I had for years didn't include an option for people to follow me, which is shitty because perhaps more people would have, had they had the option too. So I spent sometime changing it up so that it won't happen in the past. I appreciate and adore anyone who takes the time to read this, so I want to make it easy for them to do so regularly.

So in that process, I decided my whole blog format needs an update. It got me thinking about change. At first I was so reluctant to change it at all. I didn't want to lose the appearance it has had since day one. I didn't want to lose my trademark "Am I thin enough?" picture with the girl in handcuffs symbolizing how chained I am to my addiction and bulimia. I didn't want to change any of it.

But then I realized, how can I improve and work towards recovery, when I'm keeping everything the same. On the blog and in real life. It's not productive to view the same format that I had made in the depth of my addiction and bulimia. It needed a change, a refreshed look that inspires change and progress in my writing and in my life.

It got me thinking about change in general. I always thought I did well with change, until I was face to face with it and couldn't handle it. For anyone new I'll give a bit of a recap of my life leading to my addiction in 2011.

• My grandma passed away early in the year.
• My 8 year old dog who I adored as family passed away soon after.
• In October of that year, I got the worst news of my life. My dad had died. 
• I resisted change, threw myself into school (my dad valued education) and tried to forget.
• When I couldn't forget, I started planning. Let's just say oxys were always around as, uhm, 'gifts' to people who had money. They sat in my drawer and called to me for weeks. So I slowly started collecting some, ranging from Percs to 80's. 
• One night in December, I snorted my first line of oxy. It was daily from then on.
• I then lost my great aunt, two bulldogs (one of whom was my baby, my son, and my life) When I lost him, something in me snapped.
• I kept it mostly together to care for my little boy bulldog Bam. I got out of bed for him, So when he was gone, I was again overwhelmed with sadness and obliterated the feelings with drugs.

So it's clear to me now that instead of changing, I numbed everything out until reality came down and knocked me off my feet last year. Then again, instead of changing and getting my life together, I ran. I got kicked out and ran to my addict friends. I lived in my car, on addicts and dealer's couches. I hopped from place to place with my bag of cleans and pills. I preferred this life over change.

It wasn't until I could absolutely no longer deal with it that I realized that something had to give. I needed to change or I would die alone homeless in my car as my junkie 'friends' robbed me blind and left my dead body. (They did do something like that, minus the body. Well, not minus one a different time. Great people, eh?). And so I did. I got on methadone, got sober and went to treatment. And now almost ten months later, here I am still sober and alive. And completely changed.

So although I still sometimes resist change, I now better understand the importance of it and catch myself when I'm becoming to stuck. I feel like once and a while my recovery needs small changes and refreshers to keep me going. Especially because recovery itself is all about change. I change who I am everyday on my search to learning who I truly am. So I have to update the small things to match the big change that goes on within me.

So now my blog is refreshed and ready to inspire my words, thoughts, and growth. So enjoy!

Much love, xx.

before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness.

So the last little while I've been feeling great. Optimistic, hopeful, inspired, determined, etc. But the last two days something has changed. I can't seem to put my finger on it. I've been taking my anti-depressants as prescribed, doing what I usually do, so I don't know what has changed. 

But I guess since I have been sober I get days like these. Days where all I think about is getting obliterated and not feeling a thing. Sinking into that beautiful place between dreams and reality. Nodding in and out, in and out. And hovering blissfully in between. These days are the ones when I won't eat a thing. It's like I'm so depressed and craving that high that the only other thing as satisfying to me is starving. There's even this song lyric I've always loved (sick or not) that says, "I feel like a super model who just skipped a meal." The song's about feeling great and on top of the world, so he says that as a good thing. And to me, not eating sometimes gives me this rush, this pride and satisfaction. The hunger pains act as a reminder of how "good" I've done by starving. 

So today again, all I thought about was opiates. Or meth. Opiates and meth, opiates and meth. Over and over again I switched back between the two, imaging the feeling. Remembering those feelings. The ones like nothing else in the world. And the more I try and stop it, the more it spins around in my head. An endless cycle. 

 The only thing that can quiet Roxy (addiction identity's name) who is locked in her cage begging to be let out is by asking Jenna (bulimia identity) to come out and play. So just for a moment, the thoughts, conversations, arguments, are only with me and Jenna. Just us two, like it used to be before Roxy showed up in my head. In a sick way I miss those times. Just me and her. She my best friend. I always imagined her to be beautiful, sexy, alluring, charming, intelligent. Basically everything I think I'm not. She's the gorgeous best friend you hang out with because maybe her beauty will rub off on you. So although I know she's the evil girl who wants me dead so she can take my place, I miss her being my only company. It seemed so much easier before Roxy came along throwing addiction into the mess of all my other mental illnesses. 

As if I didn't have enough issues before. You have no idea what it's like to have two powerful voices in your head telling you what to do, constantly criticizing you, bickering back and forth all day. Sometimes I forget I'm even in there. I think these are the days when I feel down. It's like if my mood is down, my voice gets quiet, sad. So the other two start to fill the silence. And it becomes so overwhelming that my real identity,  the shy, weaker one, has hidden away afraid to have to face them. On my good days, it's me who is taking the reins, it's me who is speaking up. But every once and a while, those old habits call to you, and I let them take control for a while. Sometimes it's like I just need a break. Recovery is hard work. So perhaps I'm just taking a rest, letting them run on autopilot while I heal and can take back over. 

So I'm going to get some rest, read a good book, have a spa day and recuperate. That way I can take back over and silent the evil girls in my head and get back on track to a healthy, happy recovery. I think I'll share this in group too. We talked about the eating disorder voice/identity last week and had homework to think about ours. Weird timing, having felt this.

Anyway, I wonder if they will ever go away. I want them to, but then I'm also terrified to let them go. 

Much love, xx.

By the way, I do not have split personality disorder (now called dissociative-identity disorder) or have different "voices" in my head. I simply have given each of my disorders an identity and name, mostly for writing purposes. But it also helps me differentiate between what is me and what is my disorder. It's like three people in my inner monologue. Me, Jenna, and Roxy. 

Here are two new pictures of me! Just thought I'd share what I look like now. I feel huge in them (at least, that's what Jenna says), but I've been told I look pretty. 

she made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible.

So I've been reflecting on these words, and this is what I hope I am, or will be, I want to be the girl everyone looks at with admiration. And not because I'm thin. Not because I've got track marks covering my skin and a drug induced confidence/ego a mile wide. But because my strength shines through everything else.

My dream in life is to help other girls who are struggling with addictions and eating disorders. I want to be able to tell them that recovery is worth it. I want them to see hope, strength and happiness radiating from me and know that they can have that too with recovery.

I may have finally got my first shot at giving back and helping others. I sent an email to my local detox centre on behalf of my recovery support group, Women For Sobriety (WFS).  I'm offering to host a WFS meeting at the detox centre once-twice per week. I want to raise awareness that you have other options than NA/AA/CA and the 12 steps (you can attend AA/NA and attend WFS and anyone can be apart of either but they are kept separate for the meetings purpose). Nothing against the 12 steps, since they have helped many people, but they never helped me. I felt like they were negative, male run, and too religion based. WFS is a secular, positive, support for those who want sobriety. You can be of any religion or spirituality, or of none at all, but that never really enters the room (unless talking about one's self) nor is it ever pushed on you. And in place of "I'm So&So and I'm an addict", there is the positive spin of "I am So&So and I am a competent woman." The women there just ooze love, acceptance, compassion, and respect. I've never felt more happy and loved than I do in their presence. Plus, when I was in detox they only had 12 step meetings. I couldn't relate to it. So I ended up using, and starting IV use, the day I left. Maybe if I had been introduced to WFS I might not have gone that way and perhaps would have chosen sobriety instead. But I can't know that for sure and I can't dwell on the past. All I can do is offer that choice to other girls and women so that maybe they can stay sober. I just want to make their stay at detox at least a some what positive experience and I think these meetings is the way to do it. I highly recommend WFS to every woman (there is a Men for Sobriety as well in some places).

So I'm excited about this. It not only lets me help others, but it also makes me feel good too. And since all I want is to radiate hope, strength, and happiness through recovery, it means I need to fully achieve that in all areas of life. I can't just be content with almost 10 months. I need to work as hard as I can on my eating disorder as well. I need to find my passions and live life to the fullest. I can't be a sober addict, I need to be a recovering addict, meaning I can't just be drug-free. I have to recover in all aspects, emotionally, physically, etc. I need to further deal with my traumas and learn to love myself. And as I progress through my life and recovery, I will be a step closer to my dream of helping others. I will do it. I can do it.

My dream is for the taking. All I have to do is reach out and take it,

living is easy with closed eyes.

And then she recovered.......: So you think you want an eating disorder?



So I've fallen in love with this blog since it was recommended to me in treatment. I think the author is beautifully honest, inside and out.



I especially love this post because so many ignorant people or people who want to diet think it's funny to jokingly want an eating disorder. Sorry, but it's not a fucking joke. It's serious. It's painful.  It's deadly.



Sometimes when people say something as outrageous as that I just laugh at their stupidity and ignorance on the subject of eating disorders. But most days I want to scream in their faces and curse them out until they wished they hadn't said a fucking word about it. But I hold myself back, because I know that it isn't the way to get my point across. It isn't the way to educate.



So that's why I think this post is so vital, so important and so starkly and stunningly written. It tells every bit of truth about the horrors we face with eating disorders.



Check it out. Pass it on. It's a must read.

i'm standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

I know I'm supposed to be recording all my food/liquid intake. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

I can't bring myself to eat either. I ate too much this week already. I'll be happy if I stay below 500 calories to make up for the last few days.

I know this isn't productive and that I'm supposed to be making changes. I just am so afraid. I don't want to get fat.

I guess I'll go start on my homework for next group. Maybe it'll jog me back into optimism and reality. I hope so, I can't do this much longer.


P.S. I could really go for some dope. Any kind of dope. Meth, crack, pills, junk. Just something to make me forget that I'm so fucked up and too afraid to do anything about it.

selling my soul would be a lot easier if i could find it.

I woke up in a great mood. I spent hours last night chatting with my ex. He is/was the love of my life. I can't even fathom trying to find anyone else. I'd rather spend the rest of my sober days alone than with anyone who isn't him. We laughed, we joked, we made fun of his girlfriend. We shared past memories, future goals, and shared our love without actually saying it. We wished each other goodnight, both saying how it was lovely to talk. I went to bed with this happy energy I haven't felt in years.

The thing is, I owe him quite a large amount of money. I left him high and dry when I was in the depths of my addiction. I am trying to make this right with regular payments, but he never seems to actually want to meet up and collect.  I suspected it was because he was scared he'd get caught up in me all over again. Having said he hasn't loved since me. But I was wrong. I think he only said that to spare my feelings. Or maybe he said it drunk.  Either way, he's chosen her over my money, so he has chosen her over me and repairing anything we had left.

We hadn't talked in months, in 9 to be exact, since I got sober. So I sort of came to terms with him seeing other girls. I had in no way gotten over him,  but I at least sort of admitted it was over.  But now, we're speaking again and it has stirred up all these old emotions. Both of pain and love. So everytime he chooses her over me my heart breaks all over again.

And everytime it breaks, I want to numb myself into death with dope. Every single time he turns me down I want to pick up the phone to pick up. Drugs, drugs, drugs. It's all I want. I want that rush of pleasure followed by blissful numbness. I remember that feeling and wish I had it. I didn't give a fuck about anything in that moment. As soon as the shot hit my veins I was in paradise where nothing mattered but feeling the feeling of pure ecstasy.

How do I keep doing this? It's almost like I have to choose, my life and sobriety, or love. It's a choice I never want to make. It will throw me off the edge.