Post 7

Are you there Satan? It's me, Morganne

First and foremost, I wanted to thank you, for my most recent blood pressure reading, which was 155/105, in case you were wondering. I'm 32 years old, and the individual who is responsible for helping me raise my two babies, at the most vulnerable age for boys, is currently standing in my mother's garage, slumped over standing up, during our 10-year old's sleepover with his best friend, over fall break.  These are supposed to be the greatest days of their lives, and I feel as if I'm not doing anything beneficial for them, with you around.  I can't possibly raise them the way God wants me to raise them, with you standing in my doorway, every single day, torturing the other half of my heart.  It's really starting to take a toll on my mental state, and it's starting to scare me.  I'm growing weaker, and that is just not my character. I'm a tough-skinned individual, who was raised by the best, and I do mean the best, with morals, self-respect, and self-dignity, a strong-minded girl, who knew she could do and be anything she wanted to be, with or without a man.  Now, I just sit back and let things slide off my back like it's nothing, and it's wrong.  I am wrong for doing things like that, and it hurts my heart knowing that I know I'm doing it. 

Here he stands, (somewhat, I guess, if standing is what you want to call it), stumbling over his own two feet, swaying side to side, doing that insanely loud and dramatic "sigh" every 20 seconds, dropping his half-lit Marlboro all over his brand new joggers my mother bought him as a gift when he got released from Johnson County Jail. I'm fortunate that tonight is one of those super intense evenings, where he has these crazy irrational episodes, over and over, where I am super blessed with the view of him scratching his face, doing the awkward sniff every two or three minutes. (Not). Oh, but then, I'm even more eager to witness the "oh s***" come back to life moment every few minutes or so, after he drops his wallet, phone, his needle, or his money, as his nose physically brushes the garage floor, and his hat swipes the concrete, where the "oh s***" occurs, as he looks around aimlessly, dumbfounded and somewhat embarrassed, questioning his own self if anyone saw the fall.  I saw it. I always see it. It's nauseating, and it's just so overplayed. I have a feeling that things will never be the same.

Satan, he's transforming, into the man I once grew to despise. It was all part of the master plan though, right? I knew he wasn't ready.  I knew Hendricks County should've been harsher, or I should've been a better girlfriend, and been 100% right when he was released, in order for him to stay clean.  It's my own fault. He needed more time, it's obvious. He didn't stand a chance out here. Not a single solid one. I know six more months, would have done his sanity, his mental issues, my personal issues, my own sanity, and his drug addiction some serious positive reinforcement.  He could have made a permanent recovery.  Instead, you just couldn't take that for a final answer, huh Satan? You needed him, now.  Now here I stand getting called every name under the sun aside from my own, staring at this, "creature"; this belligerent, slobbering, stumbling, top-heavy individual, slumped over in my garage, who has now had the beautiful soul sucked out of him, for the thousandth time, from the inside out. 

He no longer has a filter. He no longer has a conscience. He no longer has the ability to make choices or to think before he speaks. You steal that from him first, every freaking time, without fail. You make him soulless, where you're the only thing important to him, the only thing he thinks about, and the only "functioning' part of his existence. You've already swept him off his feet, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to save him. I'm uncertain if he'll ever have the correct mentality and goals or mindset to tell what he actually "wants" ever again. And well that's on you. I suppose he is starting to come to, so I'm going to cut this one off short. 

I'm not going anywhere, Satan, so you better be ready for the match of your life. Make your next move. I already know mine. 

I'm sure to hear from you soon.

Morganne