After the smoke clears
He asked me about pot today. I was telling him about a million and one things, rabbit trails leading to nowhere but laughter, and he asked me if it bothered me when she called it "medicine." I guess the edge in my voice betrays me.
I have unfinished business here. I voted for it. I have a lot of friends who smoke it, and truth be told, after trying it a few times, I was shocked that that was what everyone had their panties in a wad over. You've got to be kidding me that we're throwing people in jail over wanting to watch movies, eat copious amounts of food, and do nothing.
But I have unfinished business here. My ex-husband was on zero tolerance probation for delivery within 1000 feet of a school zone. He earned his class A felony by trading a joint for a bus pass when a bike cop rolled up and arrested him. His teeth were pretty much gone from all of the meth he had done before that time, but it's always the stupid little things in life that get you busted.
His grandparents came to live with us on our first Christmas Eve as a couple. It was my gift to Jesus that year. Grandma had to be put on an oxygen tank that had to be plugged in, and they were living in a trailer that got all of its power from propane. Not exactly the best situation for them. Grandpa had a lot of pain. Too much fast living and too many totaled cars will do that to you, and so he smoked pot for the pain. And my ex found it in his coat pocket, lied to me and told me he had flushed it down the toilet, and then drove to Salem with it in his pocket before flushing it down the toilet at a ministry house we were a part of. I was told I was supposed to be proud of him. I was hurt, angry, and felt super betrayed.
A few years later we were living in Oklahoma on an air mattress at my ex's relatives. I met Rocky and Crissy during that time and their three gorgeous daughters. Every night was pretty much a party for Rocky and Crissy. I remember going over to their house one time. There was no food for the babies, but there was plenty of weed and alcohol. I used my food stamps to buy the babies food and was terrified that at any moment the cops were going to bust down the door and take us all away. They didn't, but the relatives were none too happy that we were feeding someone else's family, and the whole situation turned ugly fast.
I remember the first boy I felt safe with after my ex, and how I just completely melted down and acted like a crazy person in front of him. I remember being curled up in his arms, and him telling me he wanted to be someone before he married me, and how he didn't like smoking in front of me even though I didn't mind it.
And I just don't think the feelings of guilt will get up and walk away. It's not the drug's fault. People do stupid things, make bad decisions, and whatever method they use to make them, well, they are there. We all have a tendency to hit the self destruct button at some point in our lives. Some do it in little ways, others go out like shooting stars. But the guilt, that's the hard one for me.
As I have gotten older, I have come to recognize it as what Daniel calls, "The nagging mother in law in my attic." The guilt is just one of the voices of the depression, and it comes into my throat when I watch people use in irresponsible ways. I am trying to write it out because they tell you in therapy that if you can write these things out, create a narrative, change the ending somehow, it gets easier. The only thing that is easier is removing myself from situations when their is irresponsible use. The guilt still eats at me for a thousand reasons (which is why I am still in therapy).
Your pot use doesn't bother me. My memories do. My heart hurts, and I can't heal it. Not by myself. But I don't want you to worry about me tonight. I am doing great today. I laughed so hard I couldn't contain it at work, I came home and read, I volunteered, and I am about to do my homework. All is well. I just sometimes need you to know these stories, so when my body tenses and I grow quiet, you'll know it's not you. It's the ghost of storm's past that bothers me, not you my beloved friend.
I have unfinished business here. I voted for it. I have a lot of friends who smoke it, and truth be told, after trying it a few times, I was shocked that that was what everyone had their panties in a wad over. You've got to be kidding me that we're throwing people in jail over wanting to watch movies, eat copious amounts of food, and do nothing.
But I have unfinished business here. My ex-husband was on zero tolerance probation for delivery within 1000 feet of a school zone. He earned his class A felony by trading a joint for a bus pass when a bike cop rolled up and arrested him. His teeth were pretty much gone from all of the meth he had done before that time, but it's always the stupid little things in life that get you busted.
His grandparents came to live with us on our first Christmas Eve as a couple. It was my gift to Jesus that year. Grandma had to be put on an oxygen tank that had to be plugged in, and they were living in a trailer that got all of its power from propane. Not exactly the best situation for them. Grandpa had a lot of pain. Too much fast living and too many totaled cars will do that to you, and so he smoked pot for the pain. And my ex found it in his coat pocket, lied to me and told me he had flushed it down the toilet, and then drove to Salem with it in his pocket before flushing it down the toilet at a ministry house we were a part of. I was told I was supposed to be proud of him. I was hurt, angry, and felt super betrayed.
A few years later we were living in Oklahoma on an air mattress at my ex's relatives. I met Rocky and Crissy during that time and their three gorgeous daughters. Every night was pretty much a party for Rocky and Crissy. I remember going over to their house one time. There was no food for the babies, but there was plenty of weed and alcohol. I used my food stamps to buy the babies food and was terrified that at any moment the cops were going to bust down the door and take us all away. They didn't, but the relatives were none too happy that we were feeding someone else's family, and the whole situation turned ugly fast.
I remember the first boy I felt safe with after my ex, and how I just completely melted down and acted like a crazy person in front of him. I remember being curled up in his arms, and him telling me he wanted to be someone before he married me, and how he didn't like smoking in front of me even though I didn't mind it.
And I just don't think the feelings of guilt will get up and walk away. It's not the drug's fault. People do stupid things, make bad decisions, and whatever method they use to make them, well, they are there. We all have a tendency to hit the self destruct button at some point in our lives. Some do it in little ways, others go out like shooting stars. But the guilt, that's the hard one for me.
As I have gotten older, I have come to recognize it as what Daniel calls, "The nagging mother in law in my attic." The guilt is just one of the voices of the depression, and it comes into my throat when I watch people use in irresponsible ways. I am trying to write it out because they tell you in therapy that if you can write these things out, create a narrative, change the ending somehow, it gets easier. The only thing that is easier is removing myself from situations when their is irresponsible use. The guilt still eats at me for a thousand reasons (which is why I am still in therapy).
Your pot use doesn't bother me. My memories do. My heart hurts, and I can't heal it. Not by myself. But I don't want you to worry about me tonight. I am doing great today. I laughed so hard I couldn't contain it at work, I came home and read, I volunteered, and I am about to do my homework. All is well. I just sometimes need you to know these stories, so when my body tenses and I grow quiet, you'll know it's not you. It's the ghost of storm's past that bothers me, not you my beloved friend.
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