“Once you’re hooked on opiates, you’re a goner. Doneski. Later junkie. Kiss you’re shitty little existence goodbye.”
That was how I used to think before I grabbed my pretty little lady balls and mustered up the courage to head for an inpatient rehab, my head held high, with my fiance at my side. Whoa, whoa man, wait. I know what you’re thinking – “Ehm, excuse me but – cardinal rule, cannot have a relationship the first year of recovery. Idiot.” Well, miss prissy pants, you’re incorrect. When already involved for the year and half I’ve been with this sexy rock of mine, they strictly told me not to say…
“Well, I know we’re engaged, but the book says I gotta kick you to the curb. Nope, everything we’ve been through doesn’t matter. Ha, you thought it did? That’s sweet. Huh? You thought we were in love? Well, we are. But still, the book says… ”
As I snot and blubber through sleepless nights, constant depression and hating myself. Riiiiiight.
I’ve heard the stories of hardship, how it won’t be easy… Well, it’s not about being easy. It’s about being worth it. My family is more important to me than anything. I will fight tooth and nail to keep it together, and to keep myself safe along the way. If either is jeopardized, I will change something – but as of now, why fix something that isn’t broken?
That, right there, is what my life revolves around – not to mention, he has 3 other kids who I absolutely smother when they visit. We have a beautifully messy, adorable and sometimes way too chaotic little life. Throw in some shenanigans, outpatient, insaaaaane immediate families and a dog or two and we’ve got ourselves a blog.
Please, have a seat and stay awhile – this should get interesting. 😉