Poppies

There are so many ugly things I’m beginning to remember about having been married to a junkie. The divorce was final in May of this year and I was so relieved, I threw a divorce party! Those are a thing if you didn’t already know. I’m moving out of the apartment I’ve been in for a year now and I’m surprised that it’s actually bitter sweet. I moved around a lot the previous three years and not by choice. My piece of shit husband kept getting us into more and more trouble. So after lots of couch hopping, motel living, homelessness, living on my parents living room floor with my 3 year old Son and then finally the spare room, I moved into my first apartment. Away from him. Away from the trouble he is soaking in.  One year later, I’m moving out of this apartment to live with my boyfriend and I realize now how far I’ve come since 2012. What a painful evolution. I was anxious, lacking motivation, confidence and hope and still in Hell.

I realize there are two reasons I am reflecting now. One reason is that I’m about to move out of this apartment where I spent my time shedding and healing. This place sucks; It’s like living in a run down Motel 6  for a year but there are some things I am going to miss. The closet. That was my hiding spot, the place I wrote my newest songs, my miniature sanctuary. The bath tub. Where I meditate, relax, and soak like a mermaid because I just can’t get enough of the water. Watching the sun coming through the trees in the morning, catching the scent of the local flowers and brush from the mountains near by as I sit and have my coffee, hoping I can get enough hot sips in before I hear my toddler yell from the bathroom, ” Mama can you wipe my buuuuuuuutt!?”The other reason is that my boyfriend is so completely different from what I had for a husband the past few years that I am still trying to adjust. He is healthy, he tells the truth, he has a job, he is highly intelligent, and he has no desire to possess me. That’s quite a big step from the unhealthy, homeless, almost always unemployed, possessive criminal heroin addict I had for a husband. He wasn’t always as bad as he is now, but his descent further into Hell was a swift one and I was a victim of circumstance.

I didn’t realize so many little triggers had worked their way under my skin like tiny little splinters of fiber glass that you just can’t seem to pluck. Spoons disappearing from the silverware drawer. Little orange caps behind the toilet, in the bottom of drawers, on the floor, in the car, on the side walk, in the trash. Little black/ dark brown beads of cotton on the counter, in the bathroom drawer or on the floor. walking into the bathroom and catching the scent of a lighter that has been lit for more than a few seconds. Money missing from my wallet and wondering why I was so scattered that I couldn’t remember spending the money that was missing. Being in denial that it was stolen because entertaining that idea in the past had blown up in my face. Finding pawn slips of things of mine that had gone missing. (my guitars and bass, amplifiers, jewelry, game consoles, ipods, cameras and my Dads guns.) Seeing track marks on his arms. Threatening text messages from people he owed money to. Hiding the bruises he gave me. These are all things I had come to know well. These are all things I will never have to experience again.  To no surprise, he has been in and out of jail several times the past year. in fact, he will spend Halloween and Thanksgiving there. It won’t teach him anything. To him, it’s a mere slap on the wrist to give up a few months at a time. If he continues down the road he has been, I’m positive he will either wind up in prison or dead.  My Son doesn’t even remember who he is anymore, which I feel is better for him. I don’t truly hate him, nor do I really wish him dead (though it does make me feel better to entertain the idea), I only wish that he pays in some way for what he has done, that he at least learns the lesson he came here for and that karma will decide.

 

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