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No home is complete without my old man Sarge

In celebration of my two year anniversary of sobriety, I gave myself a new home…

a sober home, a safe home, a home where I can exhale when I get to the front door, a home where I don’t have to worry about trigger after trigger, a home that does not leave me alone in my wellness, a home I don’t have to care for by myself, a home without unsettled spirits, a home with someone who knows that loving me is respecting the way in which I fight to save my life everyday.

I have more then just an addiction to drugs and alcohol.

I am addicted to unhealthy relationships and a false idea of what love is. I am addicted to the way I think that I can save the ones I love who have not even begun to save themselves. I’m addicted to playing god in their lives, thinking if I say the right thing or do what I think is best for them or be an example of what they could be, then I can make them get better. I’m addicted to people that hurt me with their own sicknesses and always make excuses for them because they are sick. I have become addicted to my thinking that I have to punish myself by staying with people who are not right for me and do not support me.

I have this idea that I have to get everyone ready to love me.

So for years, instead of focusing on my own health and well being, I have focused solely on helping others thinking that this is what made me a good person. Now I understand that it was only feeding my echo and a god complex that is sure I know what is best for everyone.

There is a history of this, a seed planted in the way I was raised.

I grew up with mentally ill parents and my childhood was dominated with caring for them. I understood that I had to take care of myself mostly by myself because their moods made no room for my own thoughts and emotions. If I could help them get out of bed or go to bed or remind them to take their meds or make jokes to make them laugh, then maybe they would get better and maybe they would be able to take care of me.

I have repeated these relationships and I have carried them in homes that are no longer safe for me. I am so familiar with dysfunction, sickness and chaos that it is almost comforting to me. Changing the rules of how I keep myself safe feels more uncomfortable then feeling unsafe. It is just the nature of how I am but I have the freedom now to change and that means changing everything.

That means creating a home that welcomes me with open arms to everything I am becoming and was meant to be.

There are lavender Angelonia’s on the window sill. There is a open suitcase of clean and dirty clothes. There are those Docs that I am still trying to stretch to fit my feet. There are my stuffies and a baby blanket in a bed on loan. There is an alter that spans the space of a vacant desk. There is paperwork and receipts of change of address. There is a temporary space that I will soon call my own.

There is a home that waited for me until I was ready to find it.

And today, with two sober years without a drink or a drug, I am free.

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