Charlie is playing "Via Chicago" (That's Wilco, for the unacquainted) on his guitar.  I bought him that guitar during happier times.

Or were they?  More certain times, perhaps… 

My life was [email protected], but I knew where I belonged.  Or, at least who I belonged with…

We were in it together, no matter what.  People would tell me that junkie couples can't get clean together. 

It just doesn't happen. 

It just doesn't work. 

And, my attitude was:  "fine, then…"  I wasn't going to leave.  He was my life.  We held tight to each other through some really ugly shit.  When we got married, I had no doubts because…  if we could make it through all that, and we were still in love…

And, we were…

"But when the night is over and the walls keep linking
When fire starts to matter and the clock keeps sinking
Cliches and other chatter keeps our minds from
Our minds keep thinking

It's alright "

Our wedding was really beautiful.  I made the floral arrangements, and we made this crazy vegan feast that we never could have swung if we'd paid a caterer.  It was in this bohemian ballroom on the north side, and all of the guests received books (favorites of his and mine) as wedding favors.  We even had a sketch artist on hand doing drawings of the guests and wedding party for tips. 

I was the only thing I would've changed. 

I am never really happy with myself.  I always think something needs correcting.  I definitely wasn't stable, at that point.  And, I think I was a few pounds overweight, but whatever… 

I remember what fragrance I was wearing.  Orange blossom…  it's my favorite, and it's supposed to be good luck for new brides.  Imagine that…  a superstition based around aromatherapy didn't pan out.  What are the odds?

I don't know why I am doing this to myself tonight. 

It's been almost a year. 

Maybe, that's it.  About a year ago, around this time, I was making a terrible mistake.  I was trashing a seven year friendship, and my marriage, by falling into bed with someone who never cared about me the way he should have (as friends, we did fine, but we wrecked all that). 

Here and there for two months, I had this seedy, stupid situation going on.  I was too manic to really take in the reality of the consequences.  I knew it was wrong, but it's hard to explain how quickly things can get away from you when you're like that.  Thoughts twist around in circles until you don't know where they began, the truth becomes more and more subjective.  It's like running on instinct, when every instinct is wrong.  I'd become the worst possible version of myself.  Everything I hate about myself, amplified by a factor of ten… 

The fit inevitably hit the shan.

When he called me out on the affair, (March 3rd, I think) I crashed hard, psychologically.  He said he wanted out, in no uncertain terms.  I could hardly argue.  I just went along with whatever he said.  I was adrift.  My "friend" split and never spoke to me again (to this day).  Never called to check up, never answered a call, or an email.  That cut pretty deep, but I had to let go of all that, and focus on other things.

I realized how bad off I'd gotten.  For the first time I started to see how [email protected] nuts I had been for the past few years.  How the drugs had warped my already troubled mind, and how far from myself I'd gotten…  and, I realized that Charlie had seen it, too.  He wasn't even trying to hide it.  He had seen me getting crazier and crazier, and said nothing.  I don't know if he had it narrowed down to bipolar disorder, but he knew something was REALLY wrong, for a really long time, and said nothing.


Fear of conflict…

I am sure it wouldn't have been a pleasant chat.

Fear of change… 

Because, if he acknowledged that I was getting worse, psychologically, and he kept getting high with me, he would have to acknowledge that he was knowingly perpetuating that.  

"That's when it turned on me

A motorcade of 'meant to be's'

Parades of beauty queens
Where soft entwines make kindling"

Again, why am I doing this to myself, tonight?  The fact that it has been a solid year is cause to think of this less, not more. 

I got clean within a month or so of all that going down.  Well, off smack, anyway…   (I still smoke pot.)  Charlie did, too (sort of following my lead).  In my desperation for some sort of help, I found DT, and started blogging.  I met some really wonderful people who talked me through some terrible things.  One of those people is Ace, who told me very early on that he would help me.  I didn't believe him.  People had said that before, and they just couldn't.  I just seemed beyond help, as far as I could tell.  Good people had tried.  Professionals, loved ones… 

I guess, I was fed up, and I was going to get out from under this shit, or I was going to kill myself.  So, with nothing left to lose, I gave kicking a shot.  Ace talked me through every late night of withdrawal.  The crying jags, the self pity, the I-just-can't-do-this BS, and all the rest of it…  he kept his word.  He stuck by me.  He saw me through it.  Because, he saw something in me.  Something he thought was worth saving…  even if I couldn't see those things anymore. 

My artistic pursuits have been going well.  I am on meds, and I'm more than a few feet away from fucking up with opiates again (although one cannot deny that it is always possible – I am an addict, after all).

Charlie finished up with outpatient yesterday.  He doesn't have to go back.  My medical situation is more complex, so I will likely be there for another four months or so.  That's kind of depressing.  I am happy for him, but going there alone this morning was a miserable experience.

We get along great, but we're like friendly companions.  I don't know what I expect.  It's not like he ever reached for me when things were more certain between us.  Not for a long time, anyway…  two years into our marriage he lost ALL interest in sex.  (Drugs, depression, ect)  I, on the other hand, was bipolar and hypersexual.  And, yes, as you would expect, this was a point of conflict.

I'm medicated now, and very different, in a lot of ways.  Lamicatal has changed me a lot.  I don't know how I feel about sex, anymore.  I just know that I spend too much time feeling cold, unwanted, and alone.

"These many detailed things

Like broken nails and plastic rings
Will win by keeping me
From speaking to my new darling

And there's no way to know
Our future foe scenarios
That's when it turned on me
Where bobby pins hold angel wings"  

(The Silversun Pickups, "Future Foe Scenarios")


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