Someday…
Posted on December 21, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Guest Post, adventure, hope
For those of you who do not know Alex, please do check out his newsletter and website. It is very much worth the time. WC
The sea above – how do you see it? As a fantasy fulfilled or the beginning of a dangerous voyage? For people suffering some Someday Syndrome, it’s the latter – a place without a map, without a compass and without hope.
The Someday Syndrome blog guides people across the Someday Sea, freeing you from traveling in circles without destination. Through the various resources available on the blog, you can finally be free from procrastination and fear, from an unaware/unexamined life, and especially from unhappiness.
How? By looking down on the details of your life from the 50,000ft view and charting a clear course through the confusion.
The site offers a DIY email-based workshop and almost daily posts that include interviews, sample mentoring, rants, and an update on the Someday Journey of the blog author, Alex Fayle. And in January, Alex is introducing two new features: a weekly guest post looking at the Someday Journeys of other bloggers as well as a newsletter, offering tips and stories outside the typical blog format.
You can pre-subscribe to the newsletter from the site’s homepage at http://www.somedaysyndrome.com. As well, you can see a complete list of articles and sign up to receive blog posts either through RSS or email at http://www.somedaysyndrome.com/blog
Moe is Reminiscing
Posted on November 25, 2008 - Filed Under Christmas, Guest Post, my opinions
Christmas is nearly upon us.
As much as we all like to try and ignore it.
As of today there is one month left. Scary I know, but there you have it.
I love Christmas. Everything single thing about it other than the commercialisation that retailers seem intent upon.
This is a post I did some time ago, and when Annie asked me to do a guest post, given the timing I thought this would be an opportune time to unearth it and repost it here.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I called it Christmas of Old
I miss the Christmas’s of my childhood.
In those days, it was a simpler affair.
Presents were generally hand made, there were no huge amounts of money spent as there are today, and Christmas was celebrated as opposed to being seen as an excuse to spend as much possible on the biggest present you could lay your hands on.
Xbox, PS2, I Pods, mobile phones, DVD players, none were even thought of let alone given as presents. Any gift received or given was probably worth all of {in those days} a couple of pounds, other than whatever “big” present Santa had decided on for you. Then it may have been the scandalous amount of perhaps 5 pounds!
Christmas was to spend with family and friends. It was all family too, not just those in your immediate vicinity, but uncles, aunties, cousins and grandparents, from miles and miles away. In our house, that meant, some years, up to 25 or 30 people for Christmas day. My Mum came from a family of 5 children who all believed in large families! Organised chaos admittedly, but it was a lot of fun. Cousins everywhere, boys and girls, running all over the place, anticipation about what Santa would bring, giggling as we tried to nod off to sleep, but excitement making it difficult. We had sleeping bags and mattresses all over the floor to make one giant dorm because there were no thoughts of “inappropriate” conduct. It was just fun. Innocence prevailed, not suspicion.
Street parties were standard on Christmas Eve. Everybody outside, us playing, parents talking, having a cold beer, cooking a barbie. Then a barbie was a barbie, not the stainless steel 8 gas plus wok burner types you see today. These were a dozen bricks, a steel plate and some sticks found under the local gum tree to burn. Snags and chops in a folded over piece of bread with tomato sauce, not 87 different types of kebabs, or marinated steak with corn in foil. A REAL barbie!
Neighbours would come for breakfast and to exchange home made preserves or hand crafted items for the house, maybe a doily or pot holder, a hand sewn embroidered mat for a table, or perhaps a plant for the garden that had been struck from the cutting of one you had admired. If you were really lucky you’d receive a pudding that had been made from a family recipe that could be 100 years old, handed down from generation to generation, and the best thing you could ever wish to eat. These were in high demand let me add! To receive one of these gave you bragging rights almost until the following Christmas with the other neighbours!! These days you would be lucky to KNOW your neighbour let alone exchange gifts such as these.
While the adults were inside drinking tea on Christmas morning, we kids were outside in the street comparing presents with the other neighbourhood kids. Riding a new bike, racing around on new roller skates {unencumbered by knee, elbow and leg pads or helmets, they were for sissies!!!} Trying to master the required movement to make a hula hoop work properly was hysterical! Squirting each other with the cheap plastic water pistols found in the stockings that held all sorts of little wonders. There were hoots of laughter, much running and yelling with the odd bout of tears as someone fell, but there was always a bigger kid to pick them up, dry their tears and dispense advise on how to do whatever was being attempted when the fall happened. There was a camaraderie that is sadly lacking these days. I can count on one hand how many kids you see outside on Christmas morning these days.
Lunch was huge I’ll admit. A full meal with turkey, chicken, stuffing, ham, lamb and/or beef, miles of vegies, and gallons of gravy all over the lot! Much of the food came from your own, neighbours and families garden. The red meat pretty much the only thing you needed to buy, poultry was kept in your yard and fattened, much of the rest was part of your gift, or simply handed to you over the back fence because there was a surplus in that particular garden. Not for us was expensive, frozen food, it was all fresh, chemical free and tasted wonderful. Compared to the norm these days, it was fine fare indeed.
Call me old, call me silly, but those WERE the days. Political correctness had not been thought of, people didn’t have to put themselves in the poor house to provide a wonderful family day that was appreciated by all and remembered for many years to come. Kids were happy to be given any present at all regardless of size, value or supposed popularity. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t the latest gadget on the market, or the newest game around. Not so these days. If it doesn’t have a brand name, or isn’t worth an arm and a leg, noone seems to want it. My response is go without then!
It’s funny you know. I always thought the only people that longed for the past were old, but I don’t feel old and this year, for some reason, more than any other Christmas I remember, I long for the past. For the days when the meaning of Christmas was not only remembered, but EGADS, actually spoken of! When the word Christmas was not something to be concerned about offending people with.
I would like nothing more than for the values many of us hold dear to be fashionable again.
I’m not holding my breath waiting for it to happen though.
I find that particularly sad.
Defining Love – by the Urban Panther
Posted on November 24, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Guest Post, love, my opinions
The Urbane Lion and I are about to celebrate our One Year Together anniversary. And we are still madly, deeply in love.
But what is love, exactly? According to the dictionary, love is:
love (luv) Pronunciation Key
n.
A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair.
Let’s break this down, based on my three long term relationships:
A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person
At nineteen, I was experiencing gratitude more than affection. Gratitude that finally some male wanted to actually date me, rather than simply hang out with me. At twenty-seven, it was more of a White Knight in Shining Armour infatuation. The hope that he would rescue me from a miserable life.
At forty-four? Sincere affection. I have very real feelings of tenderness for the Urbane Lion. I hurt when he hurts. I am happy when he is happy. My heart melts just looking at him.
Arising from kinship
In my first relationship, I was too young to have a kinship with myself, let alone another person. I had no clue who I was. In my second relationship, the kinship we shared was both desperately wanting out of our respective marriages. Not a good solid base for creating a relationship with each other.
By forty-four, I knew exactly who I was. When the Urbane Lion came along, I immediately felt a sense of kinship. I knew we shared common values and goals.
Recognition of attractive qualities
My first partner came from a very different family background and upbringing than me. I confused ‘different’ with ‘attractive’. When my second partner came along, I saw someone who appeared to be in control. I felt completely out of control so was attracted to his opposite state of being.
The Urbane Lion’s qualities are not foreign to me, nor are they the opposite of mine. Instead they enhance and complement mine, making them truly attractive to me.
A sense of underlying oneness
I got married way too young. I didn’t allow myself a chance to become one with myself, so I assumed my husband’s identity. In my second relationship, once the common goal of leaving our marriages was achieved, I realized that I fundamentally didn’t like who my partner was at his core.
The Urbane Lion and I, after our respective former relationships broke down, took the time to become strong, independent, confident individuals. We met after we no longer needed anybody in our live. We share a powerful oneness that can only occur when two people are strong in their own rights.
A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person
I thought I was experiencing intense desire towards my first two partners, but it was actually insecurity and fear. Of course I didn’t know it at the time, and I had nothing to compare my feelings too.
Now I know the desire I feel for the Lion is real. It is so intense sometimes, I burst into tears from the sheer exquisite joy of it. After a year, we still ache when we are apart for more than a couple of hours at a time. And physically, all I have to do is look at him, to get all warm and tingly.
With whom one is disposed to make a pair
A pair, and someday even married. Something neither one of us ever dreamed we would want to be again. But what we have deserves to be celebrated, to be shouted from the rooftops:
We’ve figured love out! It is complete trust in your partner to caress not only your body with tenderness, but your very soul. It’s taken a lifetime of relationship trials and tribulations, but THIS is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
THIS is the real definition of love.
If a Giant… by Teeni
Posted on November 23, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Guest Post, in my head, life metaphor, my opinions
If a giant reached out to touch a freshly mown field of grass, would it feel the same to him as velvet would feel to a normal sized person?
Yes, it’s an odd little pondering, I admit. But in recent years, thoughts like this have begun rolling around in my mind more often. Like marbles in a wooden labyrinth, they roll tentatively from one end of my brain to the other, desperately avoiding the holes that will send them into oblivion, where they will be forever misplaced in my faulty memory banks. Some of these ideas survive, fortunately, because I try to write them down before they escape me. They want to be more than just ideas, I think. They want to grow and if I let them, I think they will become much more.
I don’t know if there are more of these wonderings in my head now or if I am just more aware of them. So many things have changed for me in such a short time. I have no idea where to lay the blame. Could it be one of the many medical diagnoses or the treatments I’ve endured? Or is it just normal wisdom coming with old age?
I’ll probably never know how or why things happened the way they did. But I do know that my brain doesn’t work the way it used to. I don’t have the attention span I used to have and my memory stinks. But other things have changed as well. I feel more creative. I’m much more reflective. I can laugh at myself more. I learn in smaller pieces but I make it interesting and try to apply things. I enjoy it. I have ideas. I entertain them and let them linger in my mind, no matter how silly they may be. Ideas and creativity are extremely important. So I don’t stifle mine anymore or shoot them down. They may not all go somewhere but that’s okay.
Everything begins with an idea. And I’m beginning to think that it is healthy to just soak in your creative ideas at times. It is important to free your mind from stresses and periodically just let it wander … and wonder, learning odd things here and there as it goes. I think it helps keep your mind young, fresh, and alive. And you shouldn’t have to schedule a weekend away to do it. Take a few minutes at a time. Learn to relax, breathe deeply. Allow your mind to switch into a lower, slower and calmer gear. Ideas great and small will begin to form without much coaxing, if you will only allow them to. Open up and let them form. They may take you someplace big in life. Or they may just remain interesting, entertaining little ideas.
The question at the beginning of the post occurred to me when my husband and I were driving in the car, most likely on our way home from a food shopping trip – a very mundane task, I know. But I look at things a lot differently now. In the passenger seat beside my handsome man, I looked over and saw a field of freshly mown grass with a little hill in the middle of it. It looked like a giant palm could have fit there like a long-lost puzzle piece. I tried to picture how it would feel if I were fifty times my current size. I visualized stretching out my enormous arm and placing my gargantuan hand right in the middle of that sweet smelling field. Individual blades of grass would be miniscule compared to my oversized hand. Would I even feel them at all? Would they register in my consciousness? I think they would. I think they would feel like a carpet of cool, soft velvet. I might even pass my hand back and forth a little bit to “pet” the grass, “fluffing” up any blades that had been bent over and immersing myself in its sensation, the reaction it evoked from me.
Maybe this one wasn’t my million-dollar idea. But I let the idea grow. And it did. It turned into this post.
Always wonder.
Always learn.
Always love.
Always laugh.
Always live.
Thanks for letting me get a little creative and expressive over here, Annie. Hugs to you and to anyone reading – thanks for your time!
Evyl’s Tasteless Poetry: The Guest Post Edition
Posted on November 22, 2008 - Filed Under Guest Post, Just For Fun, adventure, my opinions, power of words
Sarah’s Blue Ribbon
Sarah looked at her mantle with a sense of pride
But her one misgiving, she couldn’t hide.
Statues aplenty of bronze and silver bold
But alas not a one with the shade of gold.
Every year she entered baked goods in the County Fair
Her cooking had style, taste, and savoir faire.
But something was missing and the win that she sought
Could never somehow seem to be bought.
But this year she smiled with a devilish grin
I have just the ingredient to garnish the win.
So she mixed up a dish, hoping it would be the one
With a lot of love and a good dash of fun.
Sarah gazed at the judges so serious and dour
Hoping that her dish wouldn’t cause their faces to sour.
But next she saw something she hadn’t seen in a while
All of the judges faces beamed with a smile.
The Blue Ribbon was her’s that had eluded her so
The secret ingredient had won don’t you know.
So if you want to get the judges to smile here’s the fix
Just a pinch of the ganja in Grandma’s brownie recipe mix.
Hope y’all like it and take care,
Evyl
“The Nosmo King”
Posted on November 21, 2008 - Filed Under Guest Post, Just For Fun, adventure, little rants
I sell cigars and tobacco for a living.
It makes sense that when I leave at the end of the day that I smell not totally unlike your grandfather or uncle used to if he smoked a pipe or cigars.
While it’s not the finest smell in the world to many, I can think of several colognes/perfumes I dislike much more.
Actually, some reek to the high heavens.
Case in point: I got on the train a week ago and sat next to this princess.
She immediately turned to me and said, “Ugghh… do you smoke?”
I was taken by surprise but I looked at her and said, “Uhh . . . Yyyeah. . . ”
“Well,” she says, extremely irritated, “I’m pregnant!”
I really wanted to say, “Oh, I thought you were just really fat.”
But I bit my lip and in my stupefied state muttered, “Jesus Christ,” before I got up and moved to another seat.
What the hell does the fact that I smoke have to do with being somewhere in this woman’s proximity?
Would the aroma cause some strange birth anomaly?
I’m still shaking my head over this one and wondering if I’m the one in the wrong here.
And I’m still pissed that this chaste, self-righteous and corpulent A-hole basically wanted me to know I was an unacceptable seating partner simply because I smoke.
If I was smoking on the train, yes, I’m an inconsiderate idiot and should be thrown off while the train is moving.
I work in a cigar store where people smoke cigars all freakin’ day, so sue me.
Any thoughts?
Or is it just a total over-reaction from me?
I could use a good smartass Groucho Marx quote right about now . . .
I still can’t believe anyone in the world would ever screw this bitch.
Jesus Krispies.
Hair and Spray- Guest Post by mJ
Posted on July 31, 2008 - Filed Under Guest Post, Humor, adventure
Hi, I’m mJ from Not a Housekeeper and WC asked me to pinch hit for her today.
I was a clumsy kid.
I was the kid no one wanted on their dodgeball team because it was inevitable that I’d ball one of my own teammates in the back of the head.
I was the kid, when playing volleyball in PE class, who’d serve the ball. And instead of actually smacking the ball over the net, I’d miss the ball held in my hand with such verve and force that I’d flop onto the floor, the ball rolling into an unoccupied corner.
Kids groaned when I was the one left to be chosen for sports teams. I groaned too. I should have felt left out, or sad, but I didn’t, because I knew just as well as they did that I was an absolute disaster in any kind of coordinated team activity. Put me in a pair of ballet slippers, and I was fine. But anything that involved other people? Disaster.
In ninth grade, I went to a private school. We had these grey wool pleated skirts, and white oxford button-down shirts, and maroon cardigan sweaters. We could wear any shoes we wanted, as long as we had on knee socks or tights. I wore penny loafers, or purple Doc Martens. Because I was such a dichotomy, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be punk or prep. It was Jersey, so it didn’t really matter much, as long as I had The Hair.
For some reason, in fifth grade, I decided to cut my hair short. In a kind of funky surfer girl do, with the hair a little longer on one side so I could swing it out of my face as needed. I looked absolutely asinine, because I have thick, curly hair. Thick curly hair needs to be long enough to weight itself down, or it looks like a head of broccoli. And I sure did look like a piece of broccoli.
Since my hair was so ridiculously unruly, I used hairspray. We didn’t have product in those days-AquaNet or Stiff Stuff was as good as it got, so I had both. And used them judiciously. I decided to grow my hair longer, so by the time I was in ninth grade it resembled a mass of bird’s nests rather than actual hair.
My hair grows outward. Not down.
The amount of hairspray I used on any given day didn’t help, nor did the fact that instead of allowing my curls to air dry, I instead hit them with a blow dryer.
It was the end of my ninth grade year, and it was hot. And sticky. And humid. And it was that time of year for the PE fitness tests, which meant an entire week of being outside daily. Does anyone know what thick, curly, hair sprayed hair does at the end of a week of being outside?
It poofs. Significantly. So, on Friday, the last day of PE tests, I used an extra dose of hairspray to counteract the effects of the humidity. Which basically meant that my hair was immobile. A helmet, as it were. My hair wasn’t going anywhere.
I’m on the track, running my mile, when a bee stopped by. The scent of my sticky-sweet hair must have attracted him, because he decided to hang around for awhile. Which I didn’t care for, and responded by swatting and dodging and running crazily. Which the bee didn’t care for, so he responded by attempting to sting me.
And he did. Right in the scalp above my left ear.
And then he died, in my hair. Because I had so much hairspray creating a helmet, that the bee couldn’t fight his way through the jungle to get out and die in peace. Of course, this horrified me, so I was sent to the school nurse, to get the bee out.
She wanted to wash my hair. At school. And I didn’t have any hairspray.
So I told her “no”, went back to PE with a dead bee in my hair, finished out the day, and went home. With a dead bee in my hair.
My parents grounded me from hairspray that month. Took all of it away, and made me go to school with UN-HAIR SPRAYED HAIR. I, of course, sneak-hair sprayed, until one day when I learned the value of air drying.
I still don’t use hairspray, and have an unhealthy fear of bees.
Thanks Annie, for having me hang out at your place today!!
(Thanks mJ, I’m still laughing over this one!)
The Ebay Skinny - Guest Post by Darla
Posted on July 29, 2008 - Filed Under Guest Post, adventure, heads up, really cool shit
Hi, my name is Darla of the Ultra Beauty Boutique blog, which Writer Chick calls “Free’s Beauty Shack. 
WC asked me to talk a little bit about my eBay success. So I thought I would start at the root of how it began.
I had just decided to null my contract with a multi-level marketing business I had been in for almost 15 years and I was selling off my prizes, extra products, samples, etc. At that time, I participated in a blog where I talked about how I was getting rid of all my of excess. I didn’t give eBay as a “job” a second thought until someone asked me to sell their stuff for them. I said, SURE and that started my consignment business.
Just so you know I no longer do consignment (for the most part) but will share with you the ins-and-outs of what I learned while doing it (I currently ONLY liquidate products).
1. Have EVERYTHING that you will and will not do in writing.
2. There will always be people who expect you to put their items first even if you tell them upfront you are a month behind.
3. Know EXACTLY what you will and will not take and in what condition (i.e. one of the last consignment jobs I did, I found the items were so filthy with mold and dirt that I had to literally scrape & Lysol wipe them off).
4. There will always be those people who will promise you they won’t try to micromanage you, but they will. Don’t be afraid to give the product right back to them at their expense. You are not their slave.
5. Some people have specific places to drop off consignment items, I chose to have people mail them to me, since many items come from quite a distance (longer than a car ride).
6. Decide upfront who pays the fees and the % or the fee you will charge per item.
7. Keep a detailed spreadsheet for the client, listing all fees, selling price, etc. so there is no question of your honesty. PERIOD.
8. There will always be people who think their items should bring more and want you to “pull” the auction toward the end. Decide early on that this is NOT the way to conduct your business. I would also strongly encourage you to put that in writing (I know it sounds like a no-brainer but trust me there are people out there who will try this trick).
The rules for being a trading assistant on eBay can be found here:
If you have any specific questions or suggestions (I’m sure I forgot something) you can leave me a comment here or e-mail me at darla@werlivingfree.com
(Thanks Darla, for those little tricks and tips - I never knew this stuff.)
Beauty is only skin deep? - Guest Post by Teeni
Posted on July 28, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Guest Post, beauty
Hi, my name is Teeni from the blog The Vaguerian Tea Room. First, I’d just like to say how honored I was that Annie asked me to do a guest post. I thank you, Annie, for giving me a different audience to try out a subject that has lately made me wonder how others feel about it. What I’ve been considering lately is beauty versus attractiveness.
We all know the saying that beauty is only skin deep. But also, we all have our own ideas of what beautiful is. I’ve often wondered about the words beautiful and attractive and what they mean to other people. According to dictionary.com, the two words are almost identical in definition, although attractive appears to carry a more sexual connotation.
To me, natural human physical beauty, always meant possessing physical qualities which made others desirous of them or to want to look like them. Again, everyone has their own opinion of what is beautiful. For instance, Angelina Jolie is often touted as the world’s most beautiful woman. Personally, I do think she is naturally beautiful but I don’t think she is the most beautiful woman in the world and that title just means nothing to me because each person has their own standards of beauty.
Now as far as what is I think is attractive for a human, here’s my thinking. I’ve always considered attractive to be the ability to make oneself appealing to others in a physical manner, the ability to attract, whether considered beautiful or not. For instance, Sarah Jessica Parker is by no means what would be considered a typical natural Hollywood beauty. However, I think she is extremely attractive - she knows how to play up her good features and always appears clean and is neatly attired. Angelina Jolie also shines in this category - when she wants to, that is. Sometimes she looks dirty and skanky to me (think back when she was with Billy Bob Thornton), but she cleans up wonderfully (most public appearances with significant other, Brad Pitt). And some people are both beautiful AND attractive, in my opinion, such as Aishwarya Rai.
But now, inner beauty, in my opinion, transcends the physical level. For some it is harder to find because we are so easily blinded by physical traits. Inner beauty would enhance any physical beauty and turn mere attractiveness into ravishing beauty. It’s like a glow that emanates from within, but becomes noticed by those around. It is something that grows the more you get to know the person because it has more to do with an attitude, a concern for others, a love of life. It’s a goodness that isn’t extinguished when the flame of youthful physical beauty dies out.
I can’t point out famous people who I feel have this inner beauty because I don’t personally know them. But there are a few that I suspect have it. People like Halle Berry, Drew Barrymore, and Jennifer Garner seem to me to be the type that would also be beautiful people underneath their outer beauty as well. Again, I don’t know for a fact that this is true, as I don’t personally know these actresses but they are an example of some that I think would be a pleasure to know and have as friends, not just to be pretty faces to look at. I try to consider how they treat others, and how they behave themselves when they don’t know they are being watched.
Whenever I see magazines and shows put together lists of people they feel are the tops, I always feel some people are left off or some just don’t even belong there. So I wonder how other people feel about this whole beauty and attractiveness thing, especially when so many pretty faces are in front of us in movies and on television and in advertising. I know I generally think of women when using the word beautiful but this could equally apply to men. What do you all think and what are your definitions of beautiful and attractive when considering people?
(thanks so much Teens for a great post)
THE ENABLER- guest post by Joan Harvest
Posted on June 17, 2008 - Filed Under Family, Guest Post, guilt
Writer Chick has been kind enough to let me post some stuff I have been
holding in a long time about my son. I’ve needed to get it out but I didn’t
want him or the family reading it. I feel I can share all of it with you and
even if no one reads it at least it will have helped me to better understand
what happened and what is still happening.
Even now when my cell phone rings and I see it is him calling, my stomach
feels queasy because most times he is calling to tell me something bad has
happened to him. But I’m his mother. I can’t just ignore the call even
though I know whatever he tells me will worry me and I will have a
stomachache for hours until I can talk myself down.
He’s been in Buffalo since last September. At first he was so happy being
there but as winter set in you could hear the depression in his voice. He
got a job as a valet driver. He loved the job but like every job he ever
had he got fired. Of course, it’s never his fault. He always has some excuse
as to why he got fired. I think it was in March that things started to
really go downhill for him. He managed to find a part time valet job but his
girlfriend was getting tired of paying for everything for him. That’s when
he relapsed and did cocaine. I don’t know how many times he did it. He said
just once but he never tells the truth. I have found that even recovering
drug addicts lie. He’s been lying for so long I don’t think he remembers
how to tell the truth or why people should tell the truth.
There is so much to our story I believe I could write a whole book about it
and someday I may. You remember that book “A Million Little Pieces” by James
Frey? Come to find out it was a book he wrote as non fiction but most of it
turned out to be fiction about his so called drug addiction. Everything I
write here happened for real. It includes his addiction to heroin,
prescription drugs, cocaine, crack, and pot. It includes my enabling him to
do these things. It includes temper tantrums, smashed walls, calls to the
police, threats of suicide, two deaths, almost losing my family because I
couldn’t let him go. It includes our house being broken into 4 times. It
includes my son going outside to get in my car to pick me up at work and
being approached by his ex drug dealer, with a gun, looking for money. It
includes my son going cold turkey from heroin and oxycontin at home and
watching him suffer through the worst withdrawals you could imagine, not
once but twice. It includes coming home and finding him sitting on the
bathroom floor surrounded by a million little pieces of his bedroom door.
And I still blame myself. That’s all I can write at the moment. The
memories are too vivid and frightening. I hope to be able to write more
because there is so much to this story. Maybe it will touch just one person
and help them whether they are an addict or a relative or friend of an
addict.
Note from Writer Chick: I greatly admire Joan’s courage in writing this post and I encourage you, if you haven’t already, to visit her wonderful site here.
