Gobshite?

I have been tossing and turning since I posted that last post. Mostly because it somehow feels like self serving gobshite ( a word I can't seem to get out of my head). Fuckery.

It isn't. Fuckery, that is. Self serving- perhaps. Fuckery? No.

It's just that I came from such fabulous insanity, and the only way I could spend my life, intimately, with someone else is if they, too, experienced insanity. Why?

I don't know, other than that is the only thing that ever felt right. I needed someone that was broken- too.

But, there is a catch to this broken. Who ever I was to be with had to be broken, but then they had to pull themselves up from the depth of despair with their finger nails and chose to live for themselves. Chose to live well, despite the odds. Fuck the odds.

What would you expect of a little girl who spent the first conscious years of her life in the grips of a man who laughed at her as she wore the mess of his abuse? And, who had to laugh with him, or he would give her something to cry about. Then this little girl spent occasional Sundays submersed in alcohol induced insanity- with her real father who she didn't know and never would. And grandparents, one of which who only grabbed her preteen breast on special holidays, when he was really drunk, after her grandmother urged her physically to "sit on your futhers knee . Go...veronna(again, she meant grandfather)." The cheek of him and her.

Where would you expect that little girl to be? On the street, selling her body? You wouldn't be alone. I saw it in there eyes as I grew up, rebellious- they thought I was there.

Oh, dear.

And then there is a boy.

This isn't a sad story- although, I understand it evokes that emotion. It is just a story about a girl and a boy, who against the odds grew up, grew up to want something more for themselves. Chose to live well, to live happy. Then they met each other.

Considering my requirement of having someone in my life that could appreciate life the same way I did and do, I think that the odds are incredibly small that, who ever that person was, that they wouldn't have addiction issues. I think, that I am not addicted to anything more sever than cigarettes is amazing.

So, there it is. Beside me stands a man that can understand and know where I came from and I him- and, we don't have to talk about it. It just happens, that after all that, he is a heroin addict... in recovery.

My point being- sometimes it's not that people choose to stay with an addict, they chose to stay with someone that has an addiction.

I think there is a difference. I know there is.

mantra: there but for the grace of god go I