Not just the weather, but because I get to see my love for the afternoon.
Our date has no schedule or timed itinerary, and I don't care. I just want to be with Papi no matter what.
Our day will involve a visit with the G'ma, who is still giving us the guilt trip for 'abandoning and neglecting her, and forcing her into a home while we take over her house'.
... you know the drill ...
Anyway, Papi now has 7 days of healing. I'm 7 days happier.
Yet still, I just want to go home NOW. I want to renege on my 'rule' of not being there for 2 weeks until his socks are fully pulled up.
Yet, I won't, because I'm too afraid of what that will bring.
I miss my Fuzzy Family so much. It's nice to have Java the Mutt here for a distraction, but he's not my babies.
The last time I went to the house, The Mrs. gave me the cold shoulder.
There is nothing more heartbreaking than an Fuzzy Family member snubbing you.
It adds to the sadness.
To know that this whole thing is affecting each and every one of us just sucks.
Such is the life of us addicts. We really do affect everyone around us.
It's made me realize that a lot of my pain around Papi using is really not about my love having a weak time, it's my own P.T.S.D.
When I had to leave the home with the heroin addict I was in love with, it was torture.
I grieved for 2 years over the fact that I couldn't help her, couldn't change her, and couldn't suffer watching her disintegrate to dust.
She didn't really wither, however, she just cleaned up her act a bit so that I looked like I was lying about her addiction.
That created a whack-load of Hen Peckers who to this day believe that I was only trying to cause trouble and make her look bad.
When I had to leave mi esposo on his night of the big ending, it was like reliving that hell all over again, and there I was. In agony once more.
I had to leave the addict again. I believed that Papi would spiral down and that would be it for our marriage.
I believed the worst.
It's hard not to when you're living in my brain with my life experiences.
I've lived the worst and come out the other end every time, but knowing the pain I had to endure to get out of the Pit of Doom was so deep, I was terrified.
I'm grateful I have medication for my chemical imbalance, and I'm able to get out of the hell a little faster than I used to, but it's still not comfortable.
Nor is it good for my breath.
I get a nice heaping load of halitosis when I get stressed. My stomach can't handle the acid and out it comes, wafting through my mouth like great wads of green stench you'd only imagine from the Grinch.
Or the Malboro.
Last night someone told me how bad my breath was and I felt like crying, dying, and crawling under a rock, but I couldn't.
I was there to sell tickets to the public for the Queer Arts Festival.
Person after person would come up and I'd be speaking with my mouth covered, or I tried to talk as loud as I could from as far away from them as possible.
I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.
However, I know that this is the deal and I carry my toothbrush around with me everywhere anyway for my brace face, so I just brush a whole lot and try my best to keep my distance.
Good thing I have dogs in my life. They don't care about my Buffalo Breath.
Apparently, neither does Papi.
i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence