#LoseBAD

[mountains-moving-91]

Let 'Em Fall Down

Sometimes, not all friends stick around. I know this world all to well. See, I have spent my whole life keeping my circle pretty small. Unintentionally sometimes, by bad choices other times, and because sometimes people just freaking suck. I’ve learned though, that just sometimes, it is better to have less, than more, especially when you are talking about “bad” friends. What does that mean to you? Well, that’s for you to decide. But let’s talk about it, together. If they leave, does it matter what their worth WAS to you? Yes, of course. It all still hurts the same. And normally, it isn’t until much later - once the pain has passed a little - that you start to notice that maybe they weren’t the best thing for you after all. That’s the fairy-tale world we live in though.

I told you all, awhile ago, that I have two kids. Well, the oldest, his biological dad is one of those holiday-dad-types. You know, the one that is never around unless it is a holiday. On those days, my mother gets voicemails to pass along. The other dad, he’s on version 1 of being a real biological dad but def on v2 of being a dad. It’s called C-H-O-I-C-E-S and Dad #2 steps up when and where Holiday Dad #1 falls short - which is every day, other than holidays. Funny story - before kid #1 existed, Dad #1 and I were madly in love. Granted, this was back in my LORD-OF-THE-DRUGS days, and looking back I would prefer to say that the drugs were to blame, but I am a shitty liar and that story wouldn’t do anybody any good.

See, I fell head over heals for what I thought was God’s Gift to Earth, all wrapped in one-hell-of-a-good-looking-BOY-BOD. He was beautiful from head to toe. And he did at one point have a very kind and beautiful heart. We actually met in rehab, and everyone acts differently when they are clean - which is how our relationship started out.  We had a beautiful relationship, nearly perfect, until we decided to take a turn down the dark road of addiction&drugs together. See, we both struggled with our mental health internally, and at the same time we were both SUPER STRONG AND STUBBORN gemini’s. And I can honestly say, if it wasn’t for what happened next, Dad and baby #2 would have never stood a chance. But the next part here, it happened - to me, and it still hurts, which is why you get to know about it. 

Rewind with me…back to my hot-shot-junkie-days. I didn’t have kids. I hardly showered. I had responsibilities that I COULD HAVE taken care of, but I made the CHOICE, EVERY DAMN DAY, to take care of my drug habit. That was the only responsibility I gave two shits about - MY next freaking fix. Holiday Dad and I shared more than just our birthday month. We both had an unmanageable addiction and a wild desire to make bad decisions in all the right moments. And it was fun at first - until we both could no longer manage the addiction. 

This is where Domestic Violence comes into play. Addiction changed this man EVER SO MUCH, as it does to everyone who struggles with this broken window. He started getting mean. Oh so fucking mean. See, he had big_full/grown_beautiful_man_hands, only they didn’t feel so pretty when they made impact on the side of my face. He was the tall, with these big coffee brown eyes and hot damn, his eyelashes were every girls wildest dream. They even smiled with his smile. But they turned black, when he got high - and when he couldn’t get high, they/and_he got even darker. He was strong. And on the days he was nice, I knew I was safe standing next to him. But on his bad days, his angry days, I was basically a ghost just living in the eye of his storm. 

As much as this guy hurt me, he does have his own trauma from his childhood. See, he watched his dad beat his moms face into the bathtub, and nearly kill her on multiple occasions. His dad was his very own holiday dad who ended up murdered - 16 shots to the chest - by the time he was 8 years old. Talk about his very own type of CHILDHOOD TRAUMA AND PTSD. BUT, (and this deserves a BIG BUT) he made the choice, and continues to make the choice, to walk down the same road that got his dad murdered, every single damn day. So I personally feel that SCREAMING the solid_hard_TRUTH about his ever so ugly life is only fair. See, his voice, under the influence of Meth, Anger, or Trauma, were so hsrsh that they left the forever-type of bruises on my heart. Side note - I’d much rather get beat by a man, than degraded by a man... but now I am more of the show up ready to fight kinda girl…so hands up or sit down, basically. 

The point is - it doesn’t matter if you beat the living shit out of someone half your size or if stand in front of them and tell them that they look like they have a flat tire around their belly 1 fucking week after giving birth. IT ALL FUCKING HURTS. AND IT ALL CAUSES FUCKING TRAUMA. And you guessed it…TRAUMA CAUSES PTSD IN DA BRAIN. AND PTSD AFFECTS YOUR LIFE, IF YOU HAVE IT. Sometimes you gotta run. Sometimes you gotta fight. Sometimes you gotta hide. And sometimes, you gotta start cutting people you’ve outgrown from your life. ANDDDD - that doesn’t mean you are alone or that you don’t have anything left to fight for. It just means that it is time to rebuild. And it’s easier to do that from the bottom, than with a half built stepping stone. 

STAY STRONG YA’LL. Time doesn’t always heal everything. But you can heal, if you make the choice that you want too. The fight isn’t over until you quit…