Expectations

What on awesome word on V day.

The day everyone should show their love.

It’s a scam to me.

Oh no, I DEFINITELY believe in love. I’ve had it in my life for over 20 years. I can still look at my husband and be back in high school walking to the library as he yells out hey girl….then proceeds to ask his friends- what’s her name?? **butterflies**

I don’t have expectations for today, I don’t buy into it. Our anniversary is in a few days, that’s our real V day.

I don’t need Hallmark to make him show me he loves me.

I had huge expectations leaving rehab. D I’m good now, love and trust me like before. It will be perfect. Why don’t you trust me? Don’t you see all I’ve done for you? Ugh! Stop being depressed! 

It wasn’t fair to him. Life was harder for him after I left rehab than ever before.

My life has been pure terror- hell. But I’ve been able to resolve it in my head- hey it’s cause I’m an addict. But I can’t imagine from his side.

Watching someone you love go to edge of insanity so many times. Watching someone you love turn into someone you loathe. Watching someone you love destroy you and everything around you, and have no power to stop it. Losing everything you’ve worked for because of someone else.

I’d been banned from his Facebook for a few years. No pictures of me, he didn’t post much but what he did was sad. I completely destroyed his pride. I would try and explain, everyone had their Bullshit!! No one is perfect in this world.

This last relapse he told FB we were getting a divorce. I never knew this because I was a recluse and hid from social media. So recently I’ve had my family ask if I was ok, uh yeah. 

I’ve been told to remember my last day of using. Some parts I’m glad to remember. Like the fact that he came to pick me up out of mom’s house. And came back and came back, until I agreed to get in the car. The fact that he just sat there and never yelled, never judged, just watched and let me know he was there.

In my eyes, my husband is the biggest bad ass- (I like them a little bad) he’s hilarious and works 6-7 days a week for his family. He is the best dad around, everyone tells him this. I honestly don’t deserve what I’ve been given. Every other male I see is compared to him. He’s my rock.

Because of my addiction we lost my car, he lost his prized possession- his 4 wheeler. That was his escape machine- ride away from me and blare music. We fell behind with everything and still aren’t caught up. He’s heard me say just one more time, a million times. Because of me, he can’t/won’t really drink at home. Because of me he walks around in pain and chooses not to handle it, we are both terrified of medicine entering this house.

Something has been totally different since this last relapse. I’m his friend again on Facebook and he actually told the world we are still in this and fighting. He says we had to go to that dark place to get here. This is shocking to me, because those have always been my words. I think this last bout he actually saw it. Saw how fast I can go from being a normal good wife to a drug fiend that cares for no one.

I’ve told him, I don’t know what will happen, who I’ll be. But I’ll try with everything I’ve got and beg God for the strength.

These past few weeks we’ve laughed more, been more relaxed than I can remember. I think we’ve both thrown expectations out the window. I think we both know what we want, but realize we don’t have the power to control the other persons attitude or choices. It’s actually freeing. 

Expectations do nothing but let down everyone involved. I hope D will walk in happy and funny every day, but it’s not fair to expect it. Yesterday he was in pain and ill. And that’s ok cause it’s real life. I offered to do anything and then let him be. And eventually he came around and we had a great night with the kids. 

I had expectations I’d be sober forever. And that was pretty much when I crumbled. 

I don’t want to expect anymore, maybe hope, but expect just adds too much pressure.

Expectation

Relapse Can Be a Killa

I haven’t written in months. I’m still a smoker and still not drinking. But I did fall back in with my mom- which led to drugs drugs and more drugs.

I’ve had to start my sobriety clock over. 

Today marks day 9. I pray with everything I have this is it. That that will be my past.

I thought I had it beat. I remember one of my last comments on this blog was: don’t forget bridges need support too. This sentence haunted me.

How does a sane person return to that darkness? Well, I can only state my own case.

My husband and I were arguing alot. When you have 23 years together plus addictions, there’s bound to be a resentment- or 10. 

I thought I had it beat. God had saved me from it all! So surely I could just unwind and hey, I deserve a little fun! 

I was running solely on my feelings. Not considering those change.

The first few times were euphoric. Awesome. Beautiful. Fun. Exciting. Definitely not boring! And of course I controlled it all! Until I couldn’t anymore. It lasted a total of 3 months. By the last day I was so close to death.

I hadn’t showered in a week. Hadn’t ate in God knows how long. Wouldn’t talk to my kids because of the guilt. I was at my mom’s and held to that house with the tightest grip. Maybe that next one would take away the pain.

I was not myself. My husband tells me it’s like another person comes in. I call it demonic. 

He came to my mom’s house twice that day. The first time I wouldn’t leave with him. 

He came back.

Thank God he came back.

I just watched him look at me. I could see this was killing him and just prayed I would die. No one in my own house deserve what I put them through. 

I don’t know what did it, but I got the last I would get from my dad. And I walked out of that house. I don’t remember the ride home. I don’t remember stopping to eat. I blacked out. I do remember throwing up in my yard when I got home. The rest of the night is blank.

The next day was horrible. I cussed my guy up and down for not getting me what I needed. I laid in my bed all day going through bouts of crying, then yelling…I hate you!!! My husband broke and called my mom. You gotta get her something. I don’t have nothing tor her. The last we had were fakes…..

So I have no clue what I ingested the night before. 

I thank God now that I have a husband that made me shower, made me eat and just held me while I cried that last day.

After x amount of hours, I was able to take a sub. I had 2 at home, only 2. Within 45 minutes my head was back. The drug fiend was gone. I called my pharmacy. I had 20 subs still on file.

I used those 20 subs to get as far from that relapse as I could.

Which brings me to today. No subs since last week. I’m more terrified of my parents today than ever. There’s not really an answer on how an addict deals when their parents are their dealer. Believe me- I’ve googled it. Nothing is there.

(Sidenote- this would be my mom and stepdad. I do have my real dad who would like nothing more than to see my parents out of my life. My Daddy’s not perfect, but I’ve never partied with him- thank God.)

Think what you will…judge if you must but this addiction is an active thing in my body I have to learn to attack. 

I’m still filled with hope. I’ve gotten back to my knees in prayer, back to reading my Bible daily, I’ve even been to church. I’ve found meetings that aren’t AA or NA but based on my beliefs. I’m hoping to start that tonight, finally found one in my area.

I’m 39. I had 2 months of total sobriety since I was 19. I was on top of the world. I could handle it. Until I couldn’t. 

I hope and pray to God this gets easier. And that this time I don’t forget what can happen in just 3 short months. 

This last round almost killed me.

For real. What the heck did I put in my body??

Maybe one day I’ll have a lush life. If nothing else, I still hope to help others. If your an addict, our story is the same. I understand you. I feel for you. I grieve for you. I’ll pray for you. My husband says he’s learned more on this subject than he ever wanted to. But still, he doesn’t understand it all. I do. I hope to express it to help people understand.

Lush

Today Is A Day One- These Suck

I’m trying to stop smoking

I’m trying to stop these drink things I picked up when I quit suboxone

I told my husband my dream is to not depend on any substance to get me through my day

I lost my job 2 months ago. I’m not able to snap my fingers and have another. But I can control the things I’m wasting our money on. 

I’ll never have my beach house as a smoker. I call the shots gas station crack. I’m determined.

I hate day ones

I had a day one of no drinking

I had a day one of no pain killers

I had a day one of no subutex

To me these days are just eerie. Nothing is scarier than putting something down I’ve grown to depend on.

But I also believe it’s time and the right thing to do

Praying praying praying….need to stay prayed up, then pray some more

Here’s to a giant step in helping my household save money. 

(I really hope I don’t have to have another day one tomorrow)

Giant

Eerie

Writing Darkness Vs Writing Hope

I want my blog to be a place of hope. A place where someone that was in my spot, may see that hope.

I go back and forth because addiction is so dark. I have many bad memories from my childhood and fast forward to my own parenting, bad was there too.

Do I dump all the darkness here? Or only show  the hope and good?  This is what I’m struggling with.

Being realistic, I’m a tiny one in this blog game. I don’t have thousands of followers and I’m still learning so much. I don’t have goals to make any money with my writing, I only have a drive to share what I’ve found to be good. 

My Bible reading showed me a few things today

1 Peter 3:15

Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear 

Psalm 119:46

I will speak of the testimonies also before kings and will not be ashamed 

Titus 

3:4 & 7

But after that (sin) the kindness and love of God our Savior toward man appeared that being justified by HIS grace we should be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life

I’ve read somewhere that the word hope is the Bible 129 times. True hope in a hopeless world. That is where it is.  

I’m honest and I let my words just go everywhere when I’m writing. I want to keep it real, but show the light that has been shown to me as well.

Hopefully I’ll be able to walk that fine line of truth and hope in times of complete darkness and depression.

Tiny

Artificial Christian

Please Lord don’t let this be me. Keep me from judging people, remind me that is your job. 

Don’t let me be a prayer girl in public but not get on my knees in my home.

If I’m ever able to do good for your name, please let that be only for you to shine, and not me.

When I read Your Word, let me learn and stay humble. Never cocky to those who won’t pick it up.

Help me to love all people. Even those I don’t like. Especially those that hurt me, or are mean to my children.

Help me to stay hopeful about my life. And to know that hope and peace (that passes all understanding) can ONLY come from  you.

I pray all the bad I have experienced is for a reason. I pray that struggle was for something. I pray I don’t go backwards.

I’ve always been real, I’ve always been honest. To the point I destroyed my husband’s pride by telling many of  my secrets. Please God I hope you help me find a good balance. Don’t let me lose my passion about being real, but let me not bring embarrassment to my family.

There are a million artificial Christian running around this planet. Please don’t ever let me be one of them. Keep me humble and let me always know you’ve done the good in my life, not me.

Artificial

Alcohol is Taking Another Mother

​I’ve talked before about the survivor’s guilt I battle daily. The guilt of looking back from the other side of addiction. Why am I here? Why are the others stuck or even worse, dead?
I don’t know how long this guilt will stay with me.

I have a neighbor that lives 3 doors down from me. I’m not sure how old she is…mid forties maybe? I’m not close friends with her, but we’ve bumped in to each other over the years. We have kids the same age. Our daughters aren’t tight but they run in the same circle, I know her son from the days I worked at the middle school. One time him and a friend snuck to my home in the middle of the night and left notes to me everywhere. Your the best they all said.

The very first time I met this neighbor I was picking my daughter up. She had went to a party at her house for her son. I remember the lady invited me in. You want to watch The Girls Next Door and drink a beer? I said no, at the time I wasn’t a heavy drinker. I kept my drinking at home. She seemed nice enough. I did learn she managed a restaurant that had been in her family for years. She told me how hard it was, but that she loved it.

As I went up and down in my life, I now know she did as well. She had to sell the restaurant. The new owners kept her as an employee but according to her they weren’t nice and ran her out. My daughter says she believes that is when my neighbor first started loosing control.

My daughter has a boyfriend of 5 years. This boyfriend is best friends with my neighbor’s son. Because of this my daughter has been in and out of that house for years.

I’ve always seen the house was known for parties. Drive by and there would be 15 cars there. Teenagers to adults. Complete opposite from my home, where I locked people out.

Multiple times I’d run into my neighbor. I watched her turn from a very pretty lady, to a person that was completely miserable. I worked at a gas station for a short time. She’d come in and say oh good grief my husband ran out of beer. I knew this lie because at the time, I said it too. I’d talk to my daughter….no he didn’t even drink tonight, she did.

The last time I saw her I was no longer a drinker. She was buying the same brand 30 pack I’d bought for years. She was drunk. I heard the same line….my husband needed beer. My husband was in our car waiting for me. My neighbor and I talked for awhile. She wanted a job so bad. Asked me to go looking with her. We could talk and hang out. This was what she was saying….we’ll be friends. I felt so bad for her. Trapped in my pill addiction, I could see me in her. I wasn’t drinking but I was no different than her. We were both sad miserable moms and wives. Trapped in our own skin. I got back in my car, who the heck was that? Our neighbor, you didn’t recognize her? No….I don’t want you hanging out with her. That worries me. I understand honey, don’t worry. I was just being nice to her, I won’t volunteer my friendship right now. 

My husband isn’t rude or judgmental. He’s quite the opposite. He has a huge heart and was fighting to protect me from myself. It wouldn’t be good for me to become best friends with a known drinker at that time. Maybe never.

 I never heard from her again. Didn’t run into her at the gas station anymore. Any news I heard was through my daughter.

About 2 months ago my daughter told me she has cirrhosis of the liver. 

My neighbor never picked up another drink. I don’t know if this is true or not, but it’s what her kids believe.

Her kids were angry, upset. This upset my daughter. I tried to explain. Remember how angry you were with me? Think about my own moma. How angry am I with her. How would I be if she was sick. I believe you can turn fear to anger because that’s way easier to deal with….I won’t judge her kids. They are kids….late teens.

It’s been up and down. She’s better, she’s not, she needs a transplant, she’s in the hospital, she’s back out.

My daughter, who has a heart as big as her daddys told her boyfriend’s moma about the neighbor. Her response was goog god! She drank that much?? This was said as she was guzzling her wine. I can’t stand a judgemental person.

Can’t stand them! Why judge? Just keep your mouth shut…

My daughter’s boyfriend got the latest news last night. She’s on a breathing and feeding tube. The chaplain came. The doctors said it wouldn’t be long, possibly in the night.

I told my daughter you guys need to go. Go see her kids. Just let them know you are there. They went.

I don’t know how to process this. I don’t know her very well. But I do know her very well. We’ve walked down a similar path.

I’m praying for her and I have been since I heard. Even before I knew she was sick, I would think of her. Does she know how much alike we really are? Does she know there are people near her that felt bad for her? There were people that never judged and understood? I secretly rooted for her in my heart.

She’s still alive as of this writing. God could pull a miracle and she could be fine. Or the news could come at any time. According to her son, she is saved.

I’m praying for God’s will. I’m praying for her husband and her kids.

Addiction and alcoholism is so real. It kills people every day. It shouldn’t be this way. It’s an epidemic that isn’t discussed enough in my opinion.

I’m still rooting for her and all the addicts and alcoholics stuck in themselves

.Volunteer

(How I’m Learning To Not) Hate My Moma Part 1

I could write a million blog posts about our relationship, and it not fully be explained. As a kid I loved her, and I know she loved me. 

My preacher used to preach about intenders. People who will change tomorrow, or next week. Eventually next week is 30 years and you’ve intended your life away. I still beg God, don’t let me be an intender. 

My mom grew up the youngest girl out of 6 kids. 4 brothers and 1 sister. They all have a drug and alcohol past, and 4 of them are either in or have battled full blown addiction. Their parents, my Nana and Papa weren’t drinkers. They were good people who fully served the Lord. My Nana was definitely a one of a kind. If I’m able to have a tenth of the faith she held, I’ll be just fine. We only need a mustard seed anyway.

So my mom didn’t grow up in an addict’s house. She had awesome parents. She was a daddy’s girl and to this day everything she says goes back to her childhood. Same as her sister. They are both stuck in that house in their minds.

My mom had me when she was 19. My parents married but divorced by the time I was 3. My dad tells me it was because of drugs. They had a stash that was to be sold to make some money. Mom took the stash, daddy left moma. I don’t know if that’s the truth, but it’s his truth. Mom says daddy left all the time, which others confirm. That’s her truth.

Moma remarried when I was 5. I was the whiny brat that obsessed over my moma. She was everything to me. We would color, she loved to sing, she loved her own moma and we spent so much time there. She was a good fun person.

But sometimes she drank. One of my first memories was being at the movies with her and some friends. They were all drinking in the parking lot. Hey – I don’t think we are supposed to be doing this. I don’t think you guys are supposed to drive with me in the car after drinking. Shut up, don’t tell your moma what to do. She’s allowed to have fun. She’s the grownup, not you.

I shouldn’t have been there. 

That particular night led to one the biggest fights. My mom would go crazy and my dad would have to try and stop the madness. Moma would throw things, punch, kick and claw. Daddy would try and hold her down. During this fight I called my Nana. You’ve got to get me out of here. She did, at least for that night. 

I’ve learned more about moma’s battle by looking back and realizing, oh she was on drugs then. She was a drinker at this time. So many things fell in place, and made sense. 

There was a time period my moma worked for a year. My step dad, stayed home with me. He always cooked and cleaned and the house ran smooth. Mom reminded us about this period for years. I’ve worked, don’t you remember?? I worked while he stayed home!! I’ve done things!!  My parents have been married 34 years. He did not work for 2 years combined over the years. She only worked one. He always provided. I always had what I needed when it was him doing the caring. 

Mom had some surgeries, and I grew up in a specific doctor’s office. I knew all the ladies by name, and spent so much time sitting on the footstool of the big table as she would sit above me with her latest complaint. 

I was a kid. This was my normal. Knock down fights, lunches on the footstool and hanging out with nurses.

But still she was a great mom. She loved me and I knew it. For my 5th birthday she made me a huge Mickey Mouse cake for my birthday. She decorated it for what seemed like days. Until her carpal tunnel flared up. Just kidding. No I’m not, it flared. I heard about it for years. Remember when I made that cake?? Oh yes, I remember how you took an awesome memory and turned it into a “see what all I’ve done for you!”

My parents tried to have another baby and I became a big sister. I was 8 years old. I loved that girl. It was my job to protect that girl. And oh how I tried. The fighting would start, I’d run to her room and close my door in that tiny house. I’d play with her and try to sing real loud. It gave me something to do, instead of just listening to the choas right outside my room.

 I was a happy kid. Like I said, it was my normal. 

There is so much more to tell. The affair, the murder and the scary friends mom picked over us. 

Hopefully it will seep through my words thatI really don’t hate her. Some parts of her I know with a fierceness because I’ve been there too. But other parts of her I’m still processing. My hope is that pouring it all out will allow the remaining pieces to fall into place. 

I’m not just a whiny girl that had an awful childhood. My childhood wasn’t awful and I truly truly loved my moma. She wanted so bad to be a different version of herself and she was for a long time. She was a functioning addict, until she just couldn’t function. It can happen to the best of us.

Millions

(You Can Have a Real Life) War Room

Have you seen this movie?

I haven’t, but I lived through my own version.  

When I purposed in my heart to pray for 30 days, my cousin told me about this story. Oh that is so sweet! I’ll buy that. (This was a day or two before Rock Bottom number four.)

During the chaos of my life I’d pick the book back up. Mainly I was on my knees really praying and begging that I would just make it through the days.

I finished it about a week ago. And it still makes me smile. 

The book had a perfect ending of course. And there were many places where I just thought yeah right. 

BUT

The story is true, so true. And everyone can be an Elizabeth. And hopefully this leads to being a Ms. Clara. 

As many words as I’ve put on WordPress, I still haven’t poured out my experience with how prayer is fixing me. I didn’t realize how much I’ve had to say, about everything.

If you can read War Room, keep in mind…that when you decide to start praying nonstop – the devil will try to make you stop. Things will probably get worse. Sometimes God has the take everything from you to get you to see Him. Just don’t stop. 

When you pray – you know your answer and how it should work out. Forget all this. Because once you give it all up, nothing will go as you planned. 

When you pray for other people, be prepared to see some suffering. They may need to be broken as well.

When everything starts coming together, and joy comes back, keep going. Pray every every day. You don’t want to go back to the beginning do you? 

Encourage others, just like Ms Clara. After you’ve experienced the power of God and prayer, share it. Be excited, be thankful and tell others. It’s not about yelling Jesus at people, but showing them through your own peace and change that something is different. 

And when they ask you what has changed you, be humble and tell them!!

I’m so curious about this. Have you had an experience that you know was God’s touch on your life? Have you experienced the power of prayer? 

You Know My Answer, Right?

I prayed so much before I started writing here. Please let my words explain how horrible and scary addiction is. Please let my words help someone somewhere, even if it’s only me.

When I was coming off buneprohene, subs, suboxone, subutex….I searched everywhere for an answer. Half of the doctors said wean off, the other said just stop. Youtubers told me how horrible it would be. Websites told me it was worse than coming off regular pills. The last thing I ever read said only 5% of people are able to come off.

I was terrified. 

I knew I’d never make, based off those readings. Since my husband had left me I grabbed my sister and held tight to her, but only through text. The only thing I knew to say was pray for me. She’s a prayer, big time. 

She told me close the websites and started sending me verses. I would write them down and tape them around my room. I laid in my floor and cried. God I don’t know what I need, but You do. God, I can’t do this. Didn’t you see those words? 5% make it out. 

My husband wouldn’t standby while I told him he was wrong. He wouldn’t put up with the fact I’d resigned to stay medicated forever. In his mind we were done. I needed him back.

God was waiting for me to give it all to Him. God was waiting to help me. God was the only One that could give me true peace and comfort. That type I’d been looking for in the drugs and alcohol. God had been my answer all along.

How did I get there? 

Days and days of nonstop prayer. Let me get through this minute. I did it! Can I please go through one more? Those minutes added up to days.

August 21, 2016 was my first day completely off. Keep in mind I quit drinking in 2014 and pills in 2015. Each had his own issues but none were horrible to put down. In fact it was a release and freedom I’ve never known.

There is hope. A real, true hope. 

1 Corinthians 10:13King James Version (KJV)

13 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

That isn’t my words, that is Bible. HE says He will give you an escape. HE will.

Addicts need to be waiting and watching for their own escape. He told you He would give it to you, and when He does, it’s up to you to run towards him.

via Daily Prompt: Waiting

My Rock Bottom Was a Trampoline

​Just wait till they hit rock bottom. That’s when they will make a change. I believe that is the opinion of people that may not be too close to addiction.
This isn’t saying I don’t believe in a rock bottom, but I don’t believe it is one important event. I believe you can hit rock bottom, survive that and move on to a new vice.

Or at least that’s what I did.

I took my first pill at 19. Became attached pretty quickly, but kept it fun and in control for years. That’s how it is, drugs and alcohol are so fun! Until they’re not.
I hit a rock bottom and was told by my husband, get help and don’t come home until you do. Round 1 of rehab, I believe I was 26.

Now, I left rehab clinging to my husband. I didn’t take it seriously. I blame myself, I was young and stupid and I still felt like I was in control.

What will I do now to relax? Chill out? How can I have fun? I know! How about we just have a few drinks every once in awhile? I can do that and keep it in check. I don’t have a problem with alcohol.

We could split a 6 pack and enjoy our night. Life was good. I wasn’t on drugs and we had this new thing we could do together.

It took years, but we weeded out every drink out there. I’m ok unless I drink dark liquor, cause it makes me mean. Clear liquor? Oh I forget my name. Red wine? It makes me cry. As long as I drink just beer I’m ok.

A 6 pack went to a 12 pack. That flew into getting a 30 pack. It got to be exhausting. Please honey drink with me tonight and tomorrow, then I won’t drink the next night. I always had to have a plan that would get alcohol in the house.

In September of 2014 I plummeted to another rock bottom. My husband had just started a new job. My daughter was working too and had to be up early. I was drunk and decided I needed to cuss our my husband and yell like an idiot. (At the time I was so right.) 2 people I love needed to go to bed. Instead mom decided she needed to show her crazy side.

I don’t remember too much of that night, but I remember enough…my daughter comes flying in, jumps in my face, full of tears: mom, just go to bed!! I’m so sick of this, I’ve got to sleep!

Oh wow. Addicts are full time victims, or at least in my experience. I can’t believe she talked to me this way. She’s a kid and has no clue what’s going on with me. I blamed my husband, how can you just stand there and let her talk to me this way. How dare both of you.

I passed out on the couch.

Sometimes you see something very different when you’re hungover and have to try to remember what happened.

I had yelled back at my daughter. I don’t remember the words I said, but I screamed at her. When all she wanted was sleep. I had lost control and told them they were to blame for everything.

I begged God please don’t ever let me lose control like that again. Please God, please help me stop drinking. Please. I’m begging you. And He did. And I moved past that day by day.

But ugh….what would I do now to relax? (I’m telling you, I don’t believe I’m the only addict that sees life this way. We can justify anything in our own head and make you the crazy one. We are very manipulative.)

Back to pills. Of course I can handle it this go round. I immediately went back and the first few months were some of the best times. Only once a week and I’d just have fun. The fun lasted 14 months. My mom’s medicine had far surpassed what she’d been on before. This new stuff was closer to heroin. And I’d never liked anything better.

At the end of the 14 month mark my husband was out of town. I had talked my mom into staying the night with me. We sat outside my house and talked and talked. It was just like old times. Hanging with my moma and her taking care of me.

Something snapped in my head that day. Maybe it was lying to my husband again. Maybe it was telling my kids just go in the house. Maybe it was guilt creeping in. I looked at my mom and that was it. Everything I had ever resented or hated about her was in me. Sure I wasn’t as bad as her, and I didn’t let dangerous people around my kids. But I was er. This was my biggest nightmare. I realized I was trapped. I don’t want to be here, please God make it to away. Please God take it. Rock bottom 3.

It took me 5 months to get back into rehab.

This brings us to Jan of 2015. When I walked out of rehab clutching my prescription for subs.

The suboxone held me (or helped me, depending on how you look at it) for 19 months. Until my husband left me. Rock bottom 4.

It was time to realize I don’t get to chill out with a substance. I can’t drink. I can’t do drugs. Because if I do I might not get another chance. My brain may not snap again. I may not hit another rock bottom. If I do this again, I won’t survive it. I have no doubt.