Relapsing on Sadness

Maybe sadness became my drug.

I wanted it. I craved it. Even when it hurt me, distanced me from everything I loved, I ran to it. Wrapped myself in it. Hid inside of it.

I don't know much about addiction besides what I've read in books, studied, assumed, but I'd imagine it feels a lot like this. Knowing something isn't healthy, but yearning for it anyway. Feeling like you are choosing it, when really it has chosen you. 

And you can't do anything about it. 

Or maybe you don't want to.

I know I didn't want to. I loved my sadness. For months I woke up and consciously chose it. I chose it like I had the choice. I closed my eyes to the morning sun and told myself, "Today, I choose sadness." And so it was. Months blurred together in a haze of false control.

But I reached a point where I didn't want it anymore. I saw my island. I saw how cut-off I was from the word and realized that I was responsible for the flood that left me detached. I acknowledged the water, but was too afraid to look in its reflective surface. Yes, sadness was in control, but what now? What could I possibly do?

I had to start believing in something bigger than myself. Bigger than sadness. 

Hope. Faith. The possibility of the impossible. That maybe I was going to be ok. Better even. These thoughts seemed crazy, but just crazy enough to be true. And in this new state of serenity, I started believing in a life without sadness. A life where I didn't want it, or crave it. Where I wasn't wrapped inside it, or hiding within it. Not hurt or running, but stable, safe, and connected with everything I love. 

But then there are nights like tonight when I feel like I'm relapsing on sadness. I try to remind myself of the beautiful words I've etched into my heart like hope and faith, but they aren't as shiny as they usually are. They mock me, laugh at me, make me wonder why I ever thought such pretty words were true. It all feels like an illusion. The only thing that feels real is the sadness that's crept it's way back into my life. Flowing through my veins as if it never left my body.

Maybe I'm an addict 

and sadness is my drug. 

Although I don't know much about addiction besides what I've read in books, studied, and assumed, I do know that recovery lasts a lifetime. I will always be recovering. 

But the difference now is that I believe in something bigger than myself, bigger than sadness. 

The possibility of impossible
A belief in something better. 

It Comes in Waves

There was a moment on Friday night.

I had two of my best friends in the whole world next to me. We were holding hands, we had our arms around each other. A band that we used to go see when we were in college was playing a reunion show. I knew all of the words to the songs. I sang. I danced. I smiled. It was incredible.

In that moment, I felt like myself. I felt so grateful to be exactly where I was. I didn't think about anything besides the lyrics to the song, how happy I was to be with people I loved so much, dancing and smiling like I was a freshman in college without a care in the world.

I fell asleep around 4am after not only a great show, but a lengthy catch up session with two more friends back at my best friend's apartment. After we finally exhausted all people and topics we could possibly gossip about, I passed out on the couch in my clothes from the night. I didn't even notice I forgot to get Blake Bear out of my suitcase. When I woke up in the morning and realized this, I was afraid I was going to panic. I had wondered what the first night sleeping without him would feel like. Almost three months have passed and this was my first night falling asleep without the bear nestled in my chest and gripped tightly in my arms. Surprisingly, I felt ok. I survived.

But now the weekend is finished. My best friends are at their houses and I'm in mine. The concert is over, we're no longer dancing, and the songs are just a faint buzz in the back of my mind. Just as I've experienced before after an exciting day, the pendulum has swung the other way. Now I'm on the opposite side of joy.

The debilitating sadness comes in waves now. Instead of being in a perpetual state of shittiness like I was initially, I'm able to experience truly happy moments like I did on Friday night. In those moments I feel like I'm really me again. My heart is light and my mind is clear. I feel part of the world and connected to other people in real and meaningful ways. But then, the tide sucks me back in. I detach from the beautiful world I was starting to feel a part of. Suddenly my brain gets clouded with a million different memories, questions, thoughts, and fears. My heart starts weighing a ton, my chest throbs from the strain. And then I'm lost again. The idea that I thought "I'm really me again" seems strange and artificial. Who am I anyway?

As I'm writing this, clutching Blake Bear, I'm missing Blake so much it hurts. I'm thinking of the fun I had this weekend and how much he would've enjoyed singing, dancing, and gossiping with my friends right alongside me. It just seems so unfair that I get to have these happy moments and he doesn't. You could try to convince me that he was there with me the whole time and got to feel the happiness through me, but right now I'm not in the mood to listen to that stuff with a hopeful heart. When it comes down to it, he's not here and that's not fair. He was only 25 with so much living left to do. So many moments left to experience.

So as I'm riding this wave of sadness, the only thing that comforts me is knowing that just like my moment of happiness, this too shall pass. I will find myself back on the joy side of the pendulum again and the depressive feelings I'm experiencing now will seem far away. I've realized that you can't remain sad forever, just as it's equally as impossible to live in a consistent state of happiness. Moments like Friday night feel as good as they do because I know what it feels like to be devoid of all pleasure and consumed by pain. It takes plummeting to new lows to truly appreciate times when I feel good again.

Everybody Has a Story

During orientation for my grad program, it was drilled into our heads that the 13 strangers in my cohort were about to become my family. Over the next four years we could expect to study together, learn together, argue, cry, be pushed to our wits end, lift each other up, and be each other's greatest support and motivation. I looked around.

Knowing that we need to form a cohesive unit to get through this journey, we decided to get together for a pot luck on Wednesday night. As a bonding activity, each of us was asked to bring an item and share a story. This item was supposed to represent an experience that helped shape us into the people we are now. The story needed to be something personal, a way for us to really get to know each other, to understand what we've been through. So with that in mind, I knew my item and story had to have something to do with Blake.

I've really grappled with the questions of "if/when/how much" I should share with new people about what I'm going through with the death of my boyfriend. Does everyone need to know? If I tell people too soon, will they be blinded by their pity for me and not really get to know me for who I am aside from it? Will telling them too much make people afraid of me and back away from getting close to the mess of a person that I am right now? But in the spirit of allowing these strangers to become my family, I knew this was something I needed to share with them. I needed to share it now and I needed to share as much about it as they were willing to listen to. I put Blake's cologne in my bag, and walked out the door.

When it was my turn for show and tell, I immediately started crying. The first couple of minutes I looked down into my lap at Blake's cologne, insuring that I wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. I didn't want to see their eyes fill with sympathy. I didn't want to watch as I transformed in their minds from the bubbly, smiling girl they met at orientation to a broken, lost soul in pieces in front of them. I blacked out as I started talking. I'm actually not even sure what I said. All I know is that the more I talked, the more I was able to breathe.

I finally looked up at the strangers around me. As I saw their faces, I realized maybe it wasn't just me who was changing in their minds, but also them in mine. But this wasn't a negative thing like I originally thought. They changed in the sense that they didn't feel like strangers anymore. And suddenly I wasn't a stranger in their eyes either. By sharing this personal piece of my life, we became familiar.

One by one all of the strangers took out their items and talked about their lives. And each time, that stranger became a person, someone who was real to me. The stick figure on their page in my book was colored, shaped, and detailed into their own unique form. When I looked around now, I saw friends.

Sometimes I trap myself in my pain by thinking I'm the only one who's ever been hurt this way. In a way I'm right, because no one will ever truly know how it feels to be me in my exact situation as I'm experiencing it now. But it would be foolish for me to think that just because that's true, it means I'm alone in my pain. 

That night with my cohort reminded me that everybody has a story. Although there are a million different ways a person can experience pain, it all hurts. We are all united in our struggles because we know there is no cure for them; pain will always exist, and it may even increase. But every time I turn a stranger into a friend by sharing a piece of my pain, I can breathe easier. And when they share a piece of their pain with me, they can breathe easier as well. The beautiful thing about pain is that it bonds people. And that bond turns strangers into friends and friends into family.

Part of Me

Today I felt good. Good might not seem like a convincingly positive adjective, but it is. Being able to confidently say I feel good without lying is huge. I feel calm, optimistic, and grateful for my life. 

After such a good day of orientation at SDSU and feeling like my life has renewed purpose and direction, I felt an overwhelming need to share my happiness with Blake. As I looked through old pictures and text messages to feel connected to him, I came across these:



As I was reading that, two parts really stuck out to me. In the first, he said, "I wish there was somehow I could help you feel my body and hear my voice reassure you whenever you are down..." Obviously he meant that in terms of him being in Arizona and me in California, but in our current context it applies more than ever. I can't see him or hear him, but I know our love is there. I know what he would say to me, how he would comfort me, the way he would build me back up so I would feel like I could get through anything.

I think Blake can still do that. His love and the confidence it instilled in me doesn't have to leave me just because he's not here anymore. The way he made me feel and the way he believed in me changed me. That influence will never go away. 

The second part that made me reflect was this: "And when you are sad briana.... it hurts me." From the beginning, everyone has told me Blake would want to see me smiling and enjoying life, not mourning him. Although I've always known that's true, before now it seemed pretty much impossible. And honestly, I think it would have been doing myself a disservice in the long run. But now, for the first time, that advice is beginning to feel applicable. I'm at a point where I am ready to smile, ready to focus on the bright side of his life. Will I still cry? Absolutely. But at least now enjoying life doesn't seem like an unreasonable endeavor. 

I'm starting to wrap my mind around the idea that Blake really is part of me now. If I truly believe that I carry him with me wherever I go, I feel strong. Of course it's devastating to know he will never physically be with me again, but this blow is lessened when I realize that I never have to say goodbye completely. He can be the reassurance in my head telling me to go for it. He can be the pulse in my heart that beats with pride for me. And his words can be a reminder that I'm at my most beautiful when I'm honest, genuine, and smiling. 

Blake is alive because he's part of me, and part of everyone he impacted. 

We Are Only as Sick as Our Secrets

After my realization from yesterday about needing to take control, I decided that today was the day to get help. Two weeks ago I tried to go to a Narcotics Anon meeting, but found out after I got there that the meeting was cancelled. Ever since then I have been making excuses to myself about why I shouldn't go again. Narcotics Anon meetings are only available in two places even semi close to me and they are both 30 or more minutes away. Each of these Narcotics Anon meetings is only once a week at a bad time (Tuesday nights, when I'll usually have class and Friday nights, when I'll be trying to have a social life). Clearly this wasn't working.

I heard from a few people that Al Anon (similar to Alcoholics Anonymous, but for the loved ones of Alcoholics) is really helpful, even if the loved one has a different addiction. When I looked up available Al Anon meetings there were some every day of the week, at several locations fairly close to me, and at multiple times throughout the day. This was encouraging, but at the same time made me upset. It seemed unfair that this support was so readily available to loved ones of alcoholics, but not of other addictions. Perhaps this was evidence of the stigma even the families of illegal-drug addicts feel when trying to cope. Hmm...

I decided on a 1 PM meeting and arrived almost an hour early. I walked through the church courtyard, straight to the office, and confidently asked the woman to point me in the direction of the Al Anon meeting. No shame this time. I was there to get help and I didn't care who knew it. She pointed at a room that wasn't open yet, but told me there was a bench outside of it where I could sit and wait. I let my skin take in the sun even as I got hot and a bit sweaty. I wanted to be completely engulfed in the light that I had deprived myself of for the past couple of days. I breathed in and out, letting my lungs swell with the air of the outside world that I felt happy to be a part of today.

Although I can't share much about what went on due to confidentiality, I will say that I did not speak at all during this meeting aside from choking on my name. I don't think this was because I was afraid, but because I just needed to sit and soak it all in. Instead of talking, I did a lot of crying, listening, and reflecting. After it concluded, the woman next to me, perhaps sensing the inner conflict I felt after not speaking up, reassured me that it wasn't necessary to share at the meetings. She explained that sometimes you get even more out of what someone else said. 

During the meeting I scribbled down a quote from the book, Courage to Change, that the leader had someone read a passage from:

"We are only as sick as our secrets. 

Until we let them out into the light, they keep us trapped."

After the wave of insecurity I put myself through over the past few days, this really resonated with me. As much as Blake's death was about him, it is now a part of me and all of those who love him. This tragedy can either become a pain buried in the depths of my heart, or a scar that blends into the landscape of my skin. It's my choice. 

I realize I need to get to a place where I allow this experience to become a part of me without it defining me. This is tricky and is going to take time to navigate. But while I'm working on that, I can find comfort in my choice to free myself of the burden of carrying the hurt as a secret. I've made an effort to not get trapped and I am very proud of myself for sticking to that decision.

Taking the Power Back

For the past two days I've felt completely paralyzed. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't smile. I can't move. My bed has become my island and everything that surrounds it is hot lava. I honestly want to venture out of self-induced isolation, but I am afraid to get burned. The world doesn't seem safe right now so I'd rather be alone.

Looking back, I think this started with the confrontation online the other night. After talking it out with Blake's family and a couple of his friends, they reassured me that they were supportive of whatever I felt was right. They never saw my actions as tarnishing Blake's memory and urged me to brush off comments made by people who don't know me and my real intentions. I was comforted by this, but still there was a small seed of insecurity planted in my head.

This seed was watered the other night after another jarring conversation, this time with someone who knew Blake very well. I'm not going to go into details out of respect for that person, but this interaction set me back to the time right after Blake's death when I was questioning everything. Did I know him at all? Was everything a lie? Did he ever love me? It felt like this person enjoyed saying things to have these questions resurface, even after I explicitly explained how the way they were saying things made me feel. I should've let it go. I should've backed away. But I continued to push back, thinking that maybe somehow I could change their mind.

People have told me a thousand times at this point that I need to find inner confidence in knowing who Blake really was, what he wanted, and how truly in love we were. If I am at a place where I let that guide me, no one can rattle me. I have nothing to prove to anyone. Negative comments or critiques won't touch me because I know the real truth.

I am giving people way too much power over me. I refer to myself as a people pleaser, but pleasing other people should never be at my own expense. I can still strive to make people feel comfortable, happy, and loved without taking away from my own comfort, happiness, and love for myself. Every time I give someone the power to instill doubt or insecurity in me, I am chipping away at my self worth. If I cross that line and don't respect my own right to these things, no one will.

That's not to say I need to be selfish and only worry about my own wants and needs, because that would make me no better than the people who have gone out of their way to put me down. Instead, I need to protect myself above all else. There is absolutely no reason for me to waste two days of my life paralyzed on an island of my own making. I say "my own making" because I can't blame the conversations or the two people I had them with for getting me to this point. No one put me here but myself. It was my own decision to let these things affect me in a way that caused me to shut down. I need to take the power back.

What Would Blake Want?

My blood is boiling and my heart is pounding out of my chest. I am going to try to remain calm so I can get my thoughts out.

I was just about to go to sleep after finishing my last post when I got a message from an acquaintance that I went to school with at USC. I am going to copy the entire conversation because I think I'll lose important details if I try to paraphrase:

Him: Hey I met someone who was friends with Blake, and they said they were really mad that you posted all those things about his heroin problem on Facebook. You totally have a right to grieve, but that is a really private thing that you publicized to thousands of people that didn't know him and now know him as a heroin addict. I really agree with him and felt I should say something.

Me: Well I respect your opinion, but I had full permission and encouragement from his family

Him: You should respect Blake, what would he want?

Me: He would want people to learn from his death. He wouldn't want people to have to hide their addiction because people would judge them for it. He would want people to find strength and get help. He would hope that what happened to him could serve as a lesson to others.

Him: Well I really hope that’s the case

Me: It is. Whoever is "mad at me" probably doesn't know me or Blake that well, so they can be mad at me. That’s fine.

Him: Ok....

Me: I know what I’m doing is right, so you can be mad at me too. That’s fine as well

Him: I’m sorry but I felt they should of told you

Me: Will you tell me who it was? (no answer for several minutes) I'm glad you at least told me yourself so I have an opportunity to talk to you about why you feel this way, but I think it's really a shame to not tell me who it was so I can have the same opportunity with the person you met. How can any of us grow from this if we say things behind people’s backs instead of confronting them? If that person is so mad at me, then I'd like to give them an opportunity to confront me about it

Him: Because it isn't my place. Just like saying certain things isn't certain peoples rights. You are in a bad place

Me: I am in a bad place?

Him: and you need love and I understand why you are doing those things

Me: I need love?

Him: but you should take that stuff down

Me: I am trying really hard to not judge you for your accusations about me, but how are you so certain you know so much about me, what I'm going through, and why I've chosen to do the things I've done? None of this is because I need love. It's out of love for Blake

Him: Look, it is up to you, but I think I have a very valid point. Goodbye

...And then he blocked me.

Rereading the conversation now that I’m not in the heat of the moment, I realize there are definitely places where I let myself get upset and combative instead of really hearing him out. Although this confrontation would’ve meant a lot more to me coming from a person who is actually friends with Blake and not some random person who barely even knows me, I do see his point. I was very quick to rattle off several reasons why Blake would want me to share about his addiction, but I had to ask myself, is serving as an example to others what Blake would’ve wanted his legacy to be or is that what I want?

The interesting dilemma here is that once a person has passed away, you can no longer ask him what he wants. All I can do is trust that his family and I knew him well enough to know what would make him proud. But this brings up the hardest thing about finding out about Blake's addiction.The terrifying question that I had to ask myself: Did I ever really know Blake at all?

This is a really big point of insecurity for me. With all of the lies and secrets, it's easy to convince myself that everything must have been a lie. But when I look at the way we look at each other in the videos of us, read the heartfelt and romantic messages he wrote me, think back on all of the deep, intellectual, spiritual, and emotional conversations we had, I know without a doubt that our love wasn't a lie. I knew the real Blake Norvell. So what if I didn't know about his drug use? His drug use was his addiction, not who he was as a person. And who he was as a person is COMPLETELY separate from that. 

It's very unfortunate that people can't separate the person from the addiction, which ironically, has been a lot easier for me because of the way Blake hid it from me. People like this guy and "Blake's friend" see the addiction side of him being represented and talked about and are blinded by that. Yes, addiction was part of his life- there's no denying that. To deny that and sweep it under the rug would only perpetuate the same stigma that causes addiction to persist and get exponentially worse. I can only imagine that he completely hid his addiction because people view it as a sign of weakness, a flaw of character, a horrific label that makes you lesser. Who would want to come clean and get help if they knew it would be greeted by those kinds of judgements? So yes, addiction was part of Blake, but it was not who he was.

Anyone that knows me or has read anything I've written knows that I have nothing but love, admiration, and respect for Blake. Learning about his addiction hasn't changed my view of him, and it pains me to think that it might have changed others'. I wish with all my heart that that wasn't the case. I wish that people could look at an addict with compassion and see their heart and their struggle and know they are the same person inside, but they just have a disease. Maybe then they'd have a fighting chance of finding the love and acceptance they need to start getting better.

So now that I've had time to cool down and think about his question "What would Blake want?" I have a better answer. The Blake I knew would do anything and everything in his power to help others, even strangers. I know in my heart that if his story could help save even just one person, he would give me his blessing a million times over to share any detail of what happened. He would risk people thinking badly about him if it meant that others could see him, a popular, well-liked, respected person, and know that if he struggled with addiction, maybe it can affect anyone. Blake was generous and truly selfless. He would want people to hear about his addiction and learn from it.

Tiny, Happy Things

I knew this time would come. The time when I start writing blog posts equally as much for others as I am for myself.

It was easy to get wrapped up in the idea that my words resonated with people, that I wrote things that people wanted to read. They liked what I had to say, they liked me. This served as validation for the hours I've spent in bed on my laptop. I didn't feel like I was wasting time because maybe I was actually helping others.

I haven't been able to write for the past couple of days because I kept thinking to myself, "What do I have to say that's interesting? What can I talk about that I haven't already said?" I realized this morning that I was in desperate need of a release, but trying to write by asking myself those questions completely blocked me from it. I've felt trapped in my head for days. I wasn't giving myself permission to display the redundant and mundane side of grief that is so typical. Thoughts about my grief aren't always beautiful, insightful, scary, or even interesting to read. But they are my thoughts. And this is my space to work through them.

I thought about making my blog private or switching to writing in a journal instead. Maybe this would eliminate the pressure I was putting on myself? But I decided against that. I still love the idea of displaying my journey publicly, without shame or excuses for my behavior, and allowing anyone who wants insight into this struggle to have access. I also feel that putting my thoughts online forces me to focus more and pushes me to make what I want to say into something comprehensible.

So instead of cutting myself off from a coping mechanism that has proven to be incredibly helpful for me thus far, I am going to just reclaim it as the original release I intended it to be. This will probably mean less eloquent and powerful posts, but it will mean more freedom. Maybe a post will ring true to someone who reads it, maybe they'll think I'm a whiny baby, or maybe they won't read it at all. I can't care about that. This is MY "x amount of time."

I wanted to thank the friend who indirectly helped me realize this today. Although she was giving me advice about how to get through a tough time by doing "tiny, happy things" that are just for me, she actually made me realize that this blog used to be one of them. The only problem was that it wasn't just for me anymore. I don't need other people reading what I write to serve as validation for spending hours writing. Although it's an added bonus to help others, it's not wasted time if it only ends up helping me.

Assumptions and Judging

A couple days ago I looked up a support group called Narcotics Anon. I heard the meetings are similar to Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous, but geared towards the loved ones of addicts instead of the addicts themselves. I searched for meetings in San Diego and found one that meets Tuesday nights not too far from my apartment.

After I finally made the choice to go, I started shaking. In that moment I felt the weakest I have in weeks. I started crying and breathing shallow and uncomfortable breaths. This strong reaction took me by complete surprise. Shouldn't I feel empowered now that I've made the choice to seek help and support? I didn't. I felt nauseous.

Before I left to get in my car, I grabbed the bear that Blake bought me. I decided I needed to take him with me; I couldn't leave my room and face this meeting unless the bear came too. I felt like I had reverted back to a little girl desperately needing her teddy. I didn't want to completely embarrass myself, so I compromised that I would leave the bear in my purse the whole time and only squeeze his hand from inside if I needed to.

As I walked up to the church, I sent a message to Blake asking him to help me find the strength to get through this. I kissed my twin freckle, checked to make sure the bear was snug and concealed in my purse, put one foot in front of the other, and went inside.

I don't really know what I was expecting to see, but I came upon a table set up with bright colored fliers and two elderly people wearing big name tags. I saw that they were volunteers for a kid's summer sports camp and realized I was in the wrong place. The woman enthusiastically asked me what I needed, but I didn't know what to say. I simply told her I was here for "a meeting" and asked if she knew where it was. Oh... "a meeting." I think she knew what I was referring to.

For the next 10 minutes I was passed off and guided around the church. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like after each new person was whispered to about "the meeting" I was looking for, I was immediately looked up and down. My head started to fill with self-doubt. Did they think I was an addict? I wanted to blurt out to each person that the meeting wasn't for me, it was because my boyfriend just died! That would make these judgmental people feel bad! I started to panic from the weight of my insecurity, frustration with how I thought I was being judged, and the let down of realizing the meeting had been cancelled.

I shut off and went into auto-pilot while a lady tried to find the number of someone who could give me more information. As I sat in the chair in her office, I cried unapologetically while inside I allowed my anger to build. SO WHAT if I was actually there because I am an addict? Shouldn't these church people be proud of me? Shouldn't they be praising me for showing up, not making me feel judged for it? I decided that this must be part of the reason why it's so hard for addicts to come to terms with their addiction. Because people treat them like they are lesser because of it. If they can function normally with their drug use and it doesn't seem to have any obvious effects on their lives, why would they want anyone to know? Why would they agree to get help if the help is doled out condescendingly?

This rant in my head was interrupted when the lady apologized and told me there was no number listed. I was about to get up and go when she very sweetly told me how much these meetings helped her when her boyfriend died of an overdose and encouraged me to try to come back next week. I reached in my purse to grab the bear's hand. She went on. It was like she was explaining my exact situation back to me, only with the insight of being years past it, married to someone else, and raising three children.

Am I the judgmental one?

Did I assume just because these people worked at a church that they couldn't possibly be understanding of a person who uses drugs? Did my insecurity of being judged for this actually stem from the fact that I am judgmental of people who use drugs and didn't want to be mistaken for one? Is that why I awkwardly referred to it as "a meeting"?

So I didn't get to go to my first Narcotics Anon meeting last night, but I did have a valuable experience. I believe it's human nature to make assumptions and judge when you don't have all of the facts, and even when you do. We would be lying to ourselves if we boasted that we are free of biases, free of prejudices, free of jumping to hasty conclusions. The point isn't to never make assumptions or judgments, because that is nearly impossible. Instead, I am going to try to keep an open mind, to realize that the assumptions and judgements I've made about a person or thing might not be true. I think this will always be a constant battle against human nature, but one very worth fighting. You never know when someone will surprise you, so you have to make sure to give them the chance to.

How to Cope with Someone Coping

Dear Friend,
I know I might make you feel awkward. I understand. I still don't feel comfortable being around myself and I live in this skin all day, every day. The very fact that you are even thinking about me, thinking about what I'm going through, is enough. The idea that you put aside your own day-to-day struggles to think about me, even just for a minute, is incredible. Know that I feel it even when I'm just crossing your mind. It gives me strength. It helps.

What do you say to someone going through something difficult? You say everything, you say nothing, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you reached out. Just hearing your voice, reading your message, or feeling your hug fills my heart back up a little bit. If you give me advice, I'll acknowledge it, I'll politely say thank you. Will I use it? Probably not. Should you be offended? Absolutely not. Did it still help anyway? Yes.

And if you want to do something? Please don't just do what's best for me, or what you think I need. How could you possibly know without asking? If you guess that I need to be distracted, I might be dying inside to talk to you about it, but not wanting to be the one to call attention to it and ruin the mood. If you try to talk incessantly about what happened, I might be wishing you would just stop and keep my mind off of it instead. But if you ask me which of those options would make me feel better, I probably won't have an answer for you. Don't be frustrated, because even just asking me that question is enough to let me know you care.

I feel like a burden, even if you reassure me a million times that I'm not. To me, you all seem happy and normal and I don't want to have any part in bringing you down. You deserve to be smiling and I don't want to take that away from you. Thank you for offering to be there for me though, that alone is all that matters. Even if I don't allow you to help me, you're helping me. Being reminded that I have a friend like you is all I can ask for in this difficult time.

Love,
Your Friend

Promises of One Day (A Poem)

One day I will look my grief in the eye and get the help I need to address it

I will trust that a guy going to the bathroom is only using the toilet 

I will stop thinking people I love will die randomly without warning

I will no longer wake up slightly panicking that you aren't next to me

I will accept that life might not always seem fair, but no one ever said it would be

I will take comfort in the idea that I have to do this myself, but I don't have to do it alone 

One day I will stop obsessing over what could've been and focus on what is now

I will stop digging into your past and looking for answers

I will be at peace with what I know and what I will never know 

I will ignore my desire to learn things that only scare me further

I will center my thinking on what I can do now, not what I could've done then

I will understand that true love never dies, it just changes form- like you

One day I will allow myself to move on, knowing it's healthy and necessary

I will keep your memories close to my heart, but stop burrying myself in them 

I will put myself first and not feel guilty about it

I will allow happiness into my life and feel deserving of it 

I will accept that I'm not the same person I used to be

I will embrace this change and be stronger, wiser, and more beautiful because of it

One day I will actively follow through on the lessons you taught me

I will generously offer to help people with whatever they need

I will focus on the positives instead of dwelling on the negatives

I will relax and give myself a break

I will laugh at life's frustrations and bask in the confusion 

I will make sure everyone I'm close to knows how special they are

I can get lost in the promises of "one day"

The future seems like a convienent space to toss these resolutions 

But at any point the passageway between my today and my one day 

Could have obstacles, narrow, or even close. 

So why not today? 

Why not start my one day now?

Today I won't accomplish all of these things, possibly not even one

I will forgive myself for that

I will respect my grief, but not let it consume me

I will focus on the baby steps I can take each day

I will celebrate small victories

I will take life a day at a time, because todays are what one days are made of.

Addiction: My Heart vs. My Head

Today I started to write a beautiful post about the memory of Blake and my first kiss. It really was special, the whole weekend leading up to it was special, but I can't share it right now. I want to focus on such a lovely memory, and all of the happy memories in general, but I can't ignore my pressing thoughts about how horrific the whole world of addiction is. I've opened up a can of worms in my search for information and I can never go back to being blissfully ignorant of it all.

Against the advice of basically everyone I know (and my own conscience) I am choosing tonight to dwell on addiction. Thoughts of it are constantly popping up in my brain, so instead of fighting them, I'm allowing them space to dance freely for a while on this page. After all, the reason why I created this blog was so I could release all of the things in my head, even the unpleasant ones. Hopefully I can entertain these thoughts for as long as it takes me to write this, and then lay them to rest for the time being.

Tonight I am oscillating between two opposing viewpoints. These conflicting ideologies can be dubbed my head and my heart.

My Heart:
Addiction is a disease, but one that can be overcome. Although it takes an incredible amount of internal strength, a person can make the choice to fight against the changes that have occurred in his/her brain. This will be an ongoing struggle, but addicts can be helped if they come to terms with what their addiction has done to their lives and the lives of those they love and make a conscious decision to end the destruction. They can go on and lead complete and fulfilling lives without drugs. 

My Head:
Some addicts cannot be helped. If a person has to decide on their own to WANT to stop using, but the addiction has made it nearly impossible for them to make that choice, how can they ever get better? How can you choose to fight against drugs when drugs have disabled your ability to choose? Is there a fine line that an addict crosses where there is no longer hope of sobriety? 

And what does that mean for the people who love these souls who have crossed that threshold? Must they resign to standing idly as the waiting game continues until they get that much dreaded, but fearfully anticipated phone call? Or is their only other choice to lose themselves in fighting a battle for a person who can only conquer his/her demon alone? Trying to play martyr by sacrificing their own health and well being for someone who cannot truly benefit from this act of selflessness? It seems like a lose-lose situation all around. 

If I go with my heart about Blake, it almost makes me more upset because I know that if his family and I had an intervention with him, he might have gotten the second chance he needed to really fight his addiction this time. He must have thought he could have both his drug use and me because he was able to hide it from me so well that he never had to choose. I know it's not helpful to think about this, but I feel like if I broke up with him or gave him an ultimatum he would've wanted to get clean for himself, knowing he needed to take control. 

But my head knows that love cannot save someone, only that person can save him or herself from addiction. Blake's love for his family was as strong, if not stronger than his love for me. If their intervention and concern didn't wake him up the first time, how can I believe that potentially losing my love would do it for him this time around?

I'm just feeling really down lately about the prospects of a full recovery for some addicts. Although my head and my heart know that many people can overcome this disease, only my heart believes in EVERYONE'S ability to do so.

Although it would never sit well with me to say its for the best that Blake died as early as he did, some part of my head does believe that if he was never going to get better, leaving the world when he did saved him and his loved ones a lot of pain. But that makes my heart hurt for all of the people coping with boyfriends, siblings, parents, friends ect. who seem to be on the same path as Blake, where hitting rock bottom and rehab still didn't produce the desired wake up call for internal motivation for a sober life. Would it be better for them and their loved ones if their "inevitable" death came sooner rather than later? My heart and my head both scream "Of course not!"

I'm going to go with my heart and say that everyone has the potential to overcome their addiction because it hurts too much to believe anything to the contrary. I don't like to think anything in life is predetermined. I believe in the power of free will and choosing your own destiny. I am going to choose to believe that a person can be on a path of inevitable death by addiction, but can, at any instant, stray from that path in a moment of strength and clarity. Even in the fog of addiction, I know in my heart there are moments of clarity. It's just up to the person to grab onto those moments with all of the strength they have left. And there is always strength left.

As for the loved ones of addicts, I see harm in both isolating yourself from them and playing their martyr. I think either scenario will add hurt and stress to your life. But whichever option you choose (or maybe a combination of the two), my head and my heart both agree that all you can do is pray for that moment of strength and clarity and make sure to be there if/when it comes.