Trigger Warning: Drug Use
Good Day to all my Fellow Warriors
A great love story is one where we all know how the main character feels. A true love story is one where we hope we may never know how the main character feels in the story.
Names have been changed. Some events have been deleted from the timeline. This is in order to protect the identity of the author.
Let’s set the mood:
It’s dusk on an Indian Summer early fall in the early evening; the sun setting paints the sky with colours from purple to red. In the air faint waves of barbecue linger over the scent of fresh cut grass.
I am on a mission to find dope for the first time in 114 days. I have found my way to the door of the house that I know I will succeed at my mission not so impossible. I am looking like a bag of make-up has been really well applied to my face … the whole entire bag… everything… tonight I am pulling off an Amy Winehouse look… eyeliner for miles… lashes for days… lips forever… I had on a top that I was pulling off as a dress with some fishnets that should have been thrown out a few washes ago, elegantly paired alongside these boots that I decided were my gettin’ sober Summer Boots! I wore them everywhere with everything… basically, I was feelin’ myself.
HE…
Opened the door.
‘…And so begins the story of a dark romance in a very small village of chaos within a dark world where evil lurks behind every stranger’s eyes….’
He stared at me.
I stared back.
We stared at each other.
The world stopped.
Time stopped.
I was aware of my breath.
He was so beautiful.
He didn’t say anything.
I didn’t say anything.
…. “Hi…” The golden purr of a young lion gruff from years of using his most powerful tool, yet too young to have such a powerful force that it need be gruff.
…. “Hi…” Enamoured by his essence, I think I was able to get the whole word out as I stared into those eyes that were lost and guiding all at the same time.
The silence between us was a bubble of pure fairytales and Hollywood magic. It was poetry in motion. It was butterflies and fireworks. It was that cheesy love song everyone knows playing softly while we stared at each other…
…Interrupted by someone inside yelling to shut the fucking door.
I go inside as my mission is still at that point to get dope, however, this place is so overwhelmingly a mess that I can’t get a link to what I want. The frienemy that lives there isn’t even there… and I am just getting more confused by the moment.
This beautiful blue-eyed guy sits down beside me and in his golden gruff voice starts some conversation… which turns into almost an hour. Eventually, we end up deciding to go to my place because it is less crowded and cleaner.
Two-second walk … I gave up on the dope … I have a super hot guy that I feel electricity off of behind me… I’m doin’ just fine.
That night was magical. Black magic… Maybe. He is magnetic. He is broken. He is magnificent. He is twisted. He is charismatic. He is pathological. He is calculating. He is addicting. He is addicted.
I stayed sober for 3 days.
On day 117 of my sobriety I did meth on my own accord for my own self want and enjoyment of my own free will and choice.
We were both very sad inside. We were both lost inside. We were both scared to be loved but desperate for love. We both found what we wanted in the other… and we clung to it.
We got high… and we clung. We had a great time together. We loved to sing together. I would write. He would sing. He had the best voice I had ever heard. Still to this day, I believe that.
I felt as though I was in my own personal Heaven. Sleeping on a love seat with a very large man cuddled up tight … when we did sleep … singing our days away … me dancing to him singing … getting high … enjoying each other. We didn’t have a physical relationship because he understood what I had been through recently, which made me trust him with everything I had.
We spent days and nights on end together. We never mentioned how we felt. We never labelled ourselves as being anything. We took some photos… I still have one today of the two of us; I’m so happy that I have it because when I look back it really reminds me of the feeling of his arm around me. The feeling of being in that room with him. The feeling of only having a tv… stealing wifi from a neighbour … staying up for 2 or 3 days at a time high on really clean pure meth… singing, making music, dancing… looking at a beautiful man who looked back at me with a look of deep love and affection…. and truly a feeling of being in a place where I finally wasn’t being hurt anymore. This area that wasn’t bigger than a jail cell… this man that I barely knew … this drug that I used to hate for the anxiety… this being okay.
He cuddled me to sleep when I was scared to sleep. He helped me through moments of PTSD by crawling to me on the floor so I wouldn’t be scared of him. He made me eat when I didn’t want to. He slept on the floor beside me when I was scared someone was going to come inside. He believed me about things other people didn’t. He stood beside me when I had to do something other people will never have to do and my friends weren’t there for.
We both had mental health issues. Honestly…
I was bat-shit crazy.
He was fucking insane.
My heart was his for the taking.
I gave him my soul without him asking.
He stole my mind without even wanting to.
The first fight broke us into pieces.
He left me.
My mind cracked.
Shattered.
1 week…
No return …
2 weeks …
No return …
3 weeks …
No return ………………………
His phone is now cut off …..
To Be Continued
Always Got Your Back
ANGEL WARRIOR 1THOUSAND
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