[Throwback Thursday — Originally published April 2014. Also part of a chapter in my memoir.]
Obviously, there are many ways to avoid getting arrested. But in reality, anything can happen. And to attack these people when you are utterly unaware of their side of the story, or the unbiased truth; to attack the people they love and who love them back, well, that’s not very humane at all. These people are hurting. They don’t need judgmental glances and gossip talked behind their backs; they need support and under-standing. Why have we become so incapable of that?
I love someone who is incarcerated. Actually, I love several people who are incarcerated — three, to be exact, and I’m sure I care about even more on a personal level, and probably more than half on a human level.
[Throwback Thursday — Originally published November 2013]
This post is directed toward every single person who has ever told me to “just stop taking” my medication. Whether you’ve been where I have, have gone through what I am, or have no idea, you have never been me. So please, stop telling me something when you cannot speak for me, feel what I feel, or know what I know.
I am on Suboxone. In short, Suboxone is a medication to help people get off heroin or other opiates. It is a combination of an opiod medication, and another medication that reverses the effects of opiates. So it helps people get, and stay, off drugs. However, many people view it as a drug itself, and that’s where the line begins to fade.
[Throwback Thursday — Originally published May 2014. RIP Coco, I will love you forever.]
When I was about 3-years-old, my parents informed me they were getting me a puppy.
The only thing I cared about was naming it Lassie. Male or female, Chihuahua or Great Dane, bald or fluffy: I was naming it Lassie.
(From what I’m told, Lassie was my favorite show, my favorite dog, my favorite living thing in the entire world. My grandfather often used to tease me and say, “Lassie is a boy!” to which I would get deeply offended and respond, “Lassie is a doah!” — pronounced ‘doe-uh’; for some reason that is how my toddler mouth spat out the word ‘girl’.)
My parents brought home an adorable brown and cream-colored German Shepherd/Lab mix. She was hyper and clumsy. I wrapped her up in my 101 Dalmatians sleeping bag and cuddled her on the living room floor. We played and wrestled; she pounced and nipped and I hugged and giggled.
(The photo to the right is of another dog, but she looked a lot like that.)
And then my parents said, “This is Lady.”
I’ve tried. I have. But I just can’t understand what you did. I can’t understand it, I can’t support it, I can’t respect it. I can’t agree to disagree about it. What you did was wrong.
I might, however, be able to forgive it.
I know you were suffering with Bipolar disorder. And I know what that’s like, because I too am afflicted by the same illness. I know sometimes it feels like the best thing really is for your children to be away from you. But I don’t know how someone could abandon their children, I just don’t.
Holden is a little older than Nathaniel was when you first left. I couldn’t imagine not having him in my life. There are times I want to lock him in a closet. There are times I wish someone would just take him, or me, away for a while. But never forever. Never for a year with no contact.
At the time, I couldn’t even bear the thought of being without your kids for more than a week or two. Even now I can’t bear the thought of it, but I have to live with it.
As I think about all the possible aspects of my inner life that may end up in this blog, and undoubtedly my book (if I ever finish it), I realize I have to face writing about us. Which is fine, by me, but it’s also something delicate that I feel has to be approached the right way.
So I decided to start like this. Bearing my inner-most feelings and voicing apologies never said directly to you and explaining how you hurt me, too.
Let me begin by saying I know I was wrong. I take full responsibility for how very wrong I was. I can say I was young and stupid and heartless and so blindly in love I couldn’t say no (and I’m sure you’d at least kind of understand those points), and they’re all the truth, but it’s still my fault.
I slept with your husband. I tore your family apart far too many times. I did it, I know I did it, I admit to doing it, and I am sorry. There aren’t many words that can assist you in getting inside my head to truly understand, but know that I did not set out with the intention of harming you. And my apology is real.