• Steven…

    by  • July 22, 2011 • * Safe for Work *, Addiction, Gratitude • 0 Comments

    Hi Steven,

    It has been a long time. I don’t think about you as often as I used to, though every summer, my thoughts tend to stray your way. Especially late in the summer, probably because the time gets closer to the date I last saw you, which I believe is September 9, 2006. 5 years! Sometimes it feels like a really long time ago, others, well it seems like just yesterday. For quite a few years, I thought about you every day, mostly wondering if you were alive.

    Just today, I found out that you are alive and well, you’ve moved far away, which is probably a good thing. It brings tears of joy to my eyes to know you survived. One of my greatest fears is that I would find out you died.

    I want you to know that I did love you, with all my heart. I would have done anything in the world for you, and I did. I have no regrets about our time together, or how it ended. It definitely messed me up for a bit, but in the end it made me stronger, it renewed my faith in God, in myself, in my future. It showed me a courage I did not know I possessed. I can finally say that I am ok, good actually, doing wonderful things with my life.

    The months leading up to September 9 were some of the most difficult of my life. Constant worry, constant stress, wellness-checks by the police, ER visits, begging drug dealers not to sell you poison, asking the police to arrest you, asking your boss to fire you, hoping you hit rock bottom without dying, because then, maybe there would be a chance you would live.

    The last night I saw you was one of the scariest nights of my life. I doubt you even remember, you were so high on cocaine, your beautiful eyes obscured by the drug, all I could see was empty black. You were a shell on that night, a shell of the vibrance and life you possessed. You had no shoes, no clothes, nothing. You were living in a house full of death and tragedy and waste. I knew that if we didn’t get you out of that drug house that very night, the day would soon come when you would die.

    Somehow, we mustered up the courage, your mother and I, to find this house, to go in this house, and retrieve you, mostly against your will. We locked you in a room at your mom’s overnight, until we could get a plan together and hopefully convince you to admit yourself to treatment. In the morning, after we slept, I remember sitting at the table, dumping the evidence of your usage on the table, and telling you that I loved you enough to go through hell for you, and that this was hell. And that we wanted to get married and have fat babies, and that I would never have babies with you, not when you shoved poison up your nose.

    That did it; I saw it in your eyes, the hurt those words caused. I’m sorry if it hurt you, it hurt me too. Not only was it true, but I knew it would get through to you. When you called the center and agreed to admit yourself, that was one of the happiest moments of my life. I remember we went to lunch, neither one of us eating. I remember hugging you and kissing you goodbye. I have prayed for you everyday since then.

    I doubt we will ever see each other. We’ve both moved, our lives are different and I can’t imagine circumstances that would bring us together again.

    I just want you to know that I am so grateful to know you are alive. I hope you are so very happy and doing so very well. I hope you stay sober, always. And I want you to know that I will always love you–always–no matter what. I’m proud of you!



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