Post 6
Are you there Satan? It's me, Morganne.
I see you're up and at it nowadays. I wish I could say I missed you, but I'd be lying straight through my teeth. I figured we'd talk again, once I saw him holding that thing in his hand, "but it was for the other stuff", not heroin. Clearly, I was not raised by wolves, this isn't my first or second rodeo, nor was I born in a turnip wagon, I knew what time it was. I guess I was just hoping you could give me a solid four to five months of freedom, since he just got home after being gone almost a year, of peace and quiet, before you dove straight in. I honestly kind of hoped you would be a little embarrassed to show your face around here so soon, but I thought wrong. I secretly prayed that I would never have the opportunity to talk trash to you again, for as long as I live. In only four weeks, here you are again, auditioning for the main role, trying to run the entire show, trying to stand on me.
It's quite obvious that you already hold the reins on him and his entire mindset. Instead of trying to build some sort of family, this time around, my priorities from this day forward, will begin with you, at the very top of the list. My mornings will no longer begin unless you are present. My days no longer function, without you around. You and that god-forsaken needle just cozied up all over the place. It doesn't take you long to make yourselves at home, huh? In the trunk of the car, in the pouch in his pocket, in at least three suitcases that I saw with my own eyes, an empty sweet tea bottle he keeps under the sink at home, thinking no one would ever look there or something, and I'm more than certain you are in many other places on top of the ones I just listed. My favorite is when you both are hidden to be disguised as something completely different. It's become a pretty fun game, for me, to distinguish where all you're secretly located throughout our room. Mesmerizing, right? No. It's sick. It's embarrassing. It's exhausting.
My favorite days lately have been the ones where you come on too strong, all at once, where he's unprepared for the aftermath, and he leaves the bedroom door locked, slumped all the way over practically drooling on himself, needle still in hand, uncapped, and both end caps rolling around on the wood floor. Or, how about when I do our laundry, and I'm walking back to our bedroom, being followed by a family member with the things I dropped on the floor, and realizing there are two caps sliding off of a pair of joggers, praying to God they don't actually fall. I love when he invites you in, about 30 minutes before the babies are supposed to be getting off the school bus, again, head hitting the bathroom sink, pants halfway down, singed spoon still on the counter, and the caps rolling around on the ground. The thoughts that race through my head are unimaginable, to say the least.
As I'm writing this out, I can feel the temperature in my body rising, along with my heart rate and my blood pressure.
hate your guts, and I'll continue when I can take a deep breath again.
morganne
