War on drugs

 I hear the term "war on drugs" a lot. Very very frequently actually. Especially given the degree I am pursuing. People have a lot of opinions on this war this country is fighting. Well, that the world is fighting. 

I want to be sure to preface this entire post with the fact that I completely understand the thought process behind "ending" the war on drugs. I truly do. There are a lot of things that aren't working, and things are being criminalized that shouldn't be. There are lives being ruined because of criminal charges that may not be justified. 

I get it.

But. There is another side to that. 

My side.

Drugs ruined my family. 

A few stupid white and brown substances tore my family apart piece by piece. 

They killed my father.
They destroyed every chance at healthy relationships.
They took away a grandfather.
They caused mental illnesses. 
They shattered any sense of normalcy.

They TRULY ruined lives. So many lives. 

I wish the person that provided my father with his drugs could be charged. I wish they could at least see the extent of the damage caused by their choices.

I don't blame them. My father had a choice and he could have gone elsewhere. But he didn't.

On that same note...I also wish my father had been charged earlier. It makes me physically ill to think of the amount of people he supplied drugs to. To think of the ways he behaved around me and other people's children. The dangerous choices he made that could have killed me or anyone else around him. 

If he had been charged, or formally held in a facility...he might have stood a chance.

Maybe not. 

But he might have. 

It might have been the one thing that got his attention. No "suspended" jail sentences. No mercy. Just straight into lockdown and then to rehab. Forced psychological treatment. 

SOMETHING.

If back then this "war on drugs" had been anything like it is now...I might still have a father. 

Maybe not.

But I might.

It's something I choose not to think about frequently because we have to deal with life as it is given to us. We have to "accept the things we can not change." We can not dwell on the things that "could be."

But for just a second when you think about how bad this war on drugs is in your opinion...

Think about those "might" circumstances. 

Because those MIGHTS would have changed so many lives.                                                                     

Lives like mine.

Just stop.

It's been a rough week.

One where I felt about 10 times my actual age.

It's hard to be the "mean" one. The one that says things that people don't want to hear.

But it comes with the territory.

You come from this past where you are so painfully aware of everything you do and the decisions you make. You have over-analyzed every part of you (and so have a lot of professionals). And suddenly you start to see your qualities in other people.

I went to school for psychology. I spent a lot of time in trauma and the aftershock.

And it's nice to be self aware. It's nice to be a good source of advice for a lot of people. But it's also incredibly exhausting. Because no one wants to hear the hard stuff.

So be nice. Listen to those that love you. Chances are they are really just trying to make sure you're ok.

Return address: Inmate number 1439493 Pinellas County Jail

My best friend of over 10 years came over the other night for girl chit chat. The conversation turned into a conversation about my dad...and she told me that I had never told her the story. Other than what she had read or seen on social media...she really had no idea what happened to him/with him. 

To be honest...my jaw kind of hit the floor. I couldn't believe that I hadn't talked about it at some point over the years. How crazy...the thing that essentially defines who I am today...and I had never talked about it.

So we got to talking. I explained the stalking, the abuse, the fire...

I pulled out old letters that I haven't looked at in years. The letters from jail that my father sent for over a year before he died.

Something crazy? I forgot how bad they were.

I had truly talked my brain into thinking that the letters were...a little delusional? That maybe I had overreacted to what they said.

But let me tell you something. I was more horrified than I was years ago. I was disgusted by not only the things my 19 year old self was told by her FATHER...but the fact that I had somehow brainwashed myself into thinking that what he said "wasn't that bad."

It was horrible.

Suddenly the feelings rushed back. I started to wonder if maybe I was all the things that he said. Maybe I was the one with all of the problems...maybe I needed professional help like he said so many times in his letters.

But then I read them again. 

 And again. 

And again.

I watched the handwriting change from sentence to sentence. I watched my father's thoughts go from "let me be there for you and help you" to "you are disgusting and worthless." My FATHER.

I watched him threaten suicide in the same sentence of saying he wished I had picked up the phone earlier in the day because he wanted my voice to be the "last thing he ever heard." Yet I was the manipulative one...

Suddenly...I am grateful that I kept all of those letters. I am grateful that I have a reminder that I didn't make up the things that I went through. I'm not crazy. I'm not dramatic.

I was abused. 

Point blank.

Period.

I was emotionally ransacked. 

I was taught at a very young age that I wasn't enough...

and that I couldn't trust anyone...even my own family. 

I was taught to second guess the people I was supposed to be able to trust. 

These are things that may never go away. I question everything. I worry at the drop of a hat. I am a control freak when it comes to my family and knowing that they are okay. I am constantly convinced that people are mad at me and don't want me.

The slightest chance of conflict and I am hyper aware of my relationships.

But at the same time...I also continue to stand for those that can't stand for themselves. Because NO woman, wife, girlfriend, DAUGHTER...should ever read things like this from someone who is supposed to love her.

Someone who CLAIMS to love her.

This...

Is not love.

I've wondered why I am the way that I am sometimes. It's hard to deal with a constant anxiety and stress that I don't understand. PTSD is a real bitch. 

But this is why. 

My father was right about one thing.

"Holding hate is like swallowing fire."

So I refuse to hate. Even if it takes me every day...and even if I have to remind myself on a constant basis that I am not that person he made me out to be. I won't hate him. I will be disappointed and I will never forget the things that happened. But I won't hate him. Because it's only hurting me.

And I refuse to let him be right.

2020 and new beginnings

It's been a year. We welcomed our 3rd daughter into this world. We dealt with deployment starting and turning our family into a walking disaster. I had surgery and a long recovery. I finished one graduate program, and started another.

We fought hard through this past year. Incredibly hard. Nothing has been quite what we wanted it to be. The second we thought everything was getting better...a huge part of our family was pulled away for over a year.

But we are coming into the home stretches (well...kind of...a girl can dream). Soon our entire family will be back hand in hand.

I have a little more time these days. Time to get my mind back together, and time to get back to writing and sanity. It's been way too long.