it's a beautiful night to live my beautiful life
I'm so happy. Life has been so good since I've moved back home. I don't know what I was doing staying in Florida for so long, wasting time with people who just didn't connect with my soul. I truly think that I went emotionally catatonic after my grandmother died at the beginning of 2010. I felt paralyzed in so many ways, and thus haphazardly entered into and stayed in relationships that I knew weren't meant to be.
This week has been unseasonably warm for New Jersey in January, so today we took Ant's dogs for a walk in the neighborhood near his mom's house. He has a pitbull named Falcor (like the dragon from "The NeverEnding Story") and he's basically just as big as his fictitious namesake. He weighs 120lbs and has a head the size of a boulder, but he listens to Ant SO well and behaves perfectly. I swung on the swings while he found a massive stick, let the dogs off-leash and ran around the empty field with them for almost an hour. The amount of energy and excitement for life that Anthony has continues to enthrall and impress me on a daily basis.
On a completely opposite note, one thing I have been struggling with lately is the possibility that Amy is getting high again. She has done so incredibly well these past two years--this upcoming March would mark two years of her being sober, and she planned on getting a huge sleeve tattoo to commemorate the milestone. I talked to her a lot and saw her face to face frequently during that time, and she was always fine. She's been working three jobs, has a good marriage, a nice home, and has completely restored her shattered relationships with her parents and her sisters.
Around Thanksgiving, however, she got her license back and bought a car. That's when I started noticing the changes. Prior to that, she'd been totally dependent on her husband Steve for transporation, as there are no trains or buses near their house. After obtaining her own transportation, holes started popping up in her stories and her days. I'd talk to her on the phone and be able to tell IMMEDIATELY that she did not sound like herself. Her speech was way slower and her words a little slurry...all the telltale signs of inebriation. I could maybe blame it on her methadone dose being too high (which it's not) because it can sound the same, except I know she takes her dose right before bed, not in the middle of the day which is when we usually talk.
Two days before Christmas her and Steve had a family/close friends gathering at their house. I told Amy I'd come over early to help her clean and set up. When I got there she was on her hands and knees cleaning the bathroom floor, and the second she looked up to greet me my heart sunk. I knew instantly and instinctively that she was high. The giveaway was always her eyes; in addition to getting pinned pupils and a glazed over stare, she'd get these huge dark bags under her eyes. She wasn't really scratching that much but her face was definitely drawn. I wanted so badly to say to her, "Look, whatever you've done, just don't do anymore, your sisters are on their way here and it's really obvious. They don't need to be seeing that." But I didn't get a moment alone with her, and even if I had I don't know if I actually could have said it. She would have lied to my face anyway.
She was okay through dinner, but later we took two cars and took a Christmas lights tour through a nearby farm, and she nodded off in the passenger seat while her youngest sister and I looked on from the back and her husband kept nudging her and talking loudly to try and keep her awake and engaged. I made up an excuse to leave as soon as we were done, and I haven't seen her since, despite her attempts to make plans with me. I've talked to her a handful of times and she's sounded fucked up every time, so... I don't know. Part of me wants to think that a slip in sobriety does not have to become a full blown relapse, but I know better than to err on the side of hope when it comes to Amy. I've pretty much just been avoiding her ever since then and assuming that her husband is aware of what's going on, and is either dealing with it or not dealing with it. Whatever. I learned a long time ago that the only power I have in that situation is the power of withdrawal, to stay as far away as possible and not subject myself to a single modicum of that nonsense.
Update since I wrote this: I've talked to her three times since and she's been sober every time, so I don't know what to think these days. Time will tell, I suppose. We're supposed to go out with her and her husband this weekend, and I've pretty much already decided that if she looks the slightest bit fucked up during that visit, I'm cutting contact...again.
This week has been unseasonably warm for New Jersey in January, so today we took Ant's dogs for a walk in the neighborhood near his mom's house. He has a pitbull named Falcor (like the dragon from "The NeverEnding Story") and he's basically just as big as his fictitious namesake. He weighs 120lbs and has a head the size of a boulder, but he listens to Ant SO well and behaves perfectly. I swung on the swings while he found a massive stick, let the dogs off-leash and ran around the empty field with them for almost an hour. The amount of energy and excitement for life that Anthony has continues to enthrall and impress me on a daily basis.
On a completely opposite note, one thing I have been struggling with lately is the possibility that Amy is getting high again. She has done so incredibly well these past two years--this upcoming March would mark two years of her being sober, and she planned on getting a huge sleeve tattoo to commemorate the milestone. I talked to her a lot and saw her face to face frequently during that time, and she was always fine. She's been working three jobs, has a good marriage, a nice home, and has completely restored her shattered relationships with her parents and her sisters.
Around Thanksgiving, however, she got her license back and bought a car. That's when I started noticing the changes. Prior to that, she'd been totally dependent on her husband Steve for transporation, as there are no trains or buses near their house. After obtaining her own transportation, holes started popping up in her stories and her days. I'd talk to her on the phone and be able to tell IMMEDIATELY that she did not sound like herself. Her speech was way slower and her words a little slurry...all the telltale signs of inebriation. I could maybe blame it on her methadone dose being too high (which it's not) because it can sound the same, except I know she takes her dose right before bed, not in the middle of the day which is when we usually talk.
Two days before Christmas her and Steve had a family/close friends gathering at their house. I told Amy I'd come over early to help her clean and set up. When I got there she was on her hands and knees cleaning the bathroom floor, and the second she looked up to greet me my heart sunk. I knew instantly and instinctively that she was high. The giveaway was always her eyes; in addition to getting pinned pupils and a glazed over stare, she'd get these huge dark bags under her eyes. She wasn't really scratching that much but her face was definitely drawn. I wanted so badly to say to her, "Look, whatever you've done, just don't do anymore, your sisters are on their way here and it's really obvious. They don't need to be seeing that." But I didn't get a moment alone with her, and even if I had I don't know if I actually could have said it. She would have lied to my face anyway.
She was okay through dinner, but later we took two cars and took a Christmas lights tour through a nearby farm, and she nodded off in the passenger seat while her youngest sister and I looked on from the back and her husband kept nudging her and talking loudly to try and keep her awake and engaged. I made up an excuse to leave as soon as we were done, and I haven't seen her since, despite her attempts to make plans with me. I've talked to her a handful of times and she's sounded fucked up every time, so... I don't know. Part of me wants to think that a slip in sobriety does not have to become a full blown relapse, but I know better than to err on the side of hope when it comes to Amy. I've pretty much just been avoiding her ever since then and assuming that her husband is aware of what's going on, and is either dealing with it or not dealing with it. Whatever. I learned a long time ago that the only power I have in that situation is the power of withdrawal, to stay as far away as possible and not subject myself to a single modicum of that nonsense.
Update since I wrote this: I've talked to her three times since and she's been sober every time, so I don't know what to think these days. Time will tell, I suppose. We're supposed to go out with her and her husband this weekend, and I've pretty much already decided that if she looks the slightest bit fucked up during that visit, I'm cutting contact...again.