Recovery does not mean you have to be miserable.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not mean you cannot have fun.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not turn you into a liar or a thief.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not make false promises.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not center on abusive relationships.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not strengthen through fear and anger.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not isolate.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not encourage risky behaviors.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not eat away at your soul.

Addiction does.

Recovery does not leave you morally, financially, emotionally, and spiritually bankrupt.

Addiction does.

Addiction does not give you a second chance.


~The Rooms

Whiskey in one hand and that stench of cocaine on your breath, you beg for me to put your temper to the test…? You slap me around and call me names. I’m sick to death of playing your fucking games.

One day it’s going to end up getting worse. It hurts me how you yell at me and curse. Stop it, before it’s too late. Can’t you see this is no longer my fate.

I used to care. I used to be there. Now, you’ve gone away. So, please stop this today, these bruises and hits and temperamental fits. All is causing me ache. Yet, I’m not the one to blame.

You’re drinking away what’s left of you, it’s hurting me, and you’re hurting me, too. I’ve cried, I’ve begged. What more can I do? I’ve tried to help and I’ve tried to still love you.

It’s hard when I’m only neglected and abused when all I ever wanted was to be, accepted by you. I know I’m not perfect, but look at you now. You have got to stop this ALL somehow.

You’ve beaten me down once more, my heart’s broken, and I’m lying on the floor. How much more of this can I take? Please God, give me a fucking break!

You brought me into this life of your drugs. And you cause me all this conflict. Are you going to take me out of this world, too? Please! Stop! Before that really comes true.

I’ve looked upon your face. Seen the sadness in your eyes. The battle of addiction, you no longer can disguise.

I’ve prayed to find the answers, of what I myself must do. I’ve prayed for the strength to fight, through the hell that you put me through.

I’ve held on for so long, but I can no longer watch you die. I cannot fight this for you, but lords knows how I’ve tried.

It’s just so hard to watch the ones you love, slowly slipping away. That’s why I just try to block it out, and hold on to yesterday.

I don’t have all the answers, or the power to save your soul. You’re broken, lost and lonely.

I cannot make you whole.

I never asked you to be my dad,

To slap me around and treat me bad.

I never asked you to drink alcohol,

I never asked for anything at all.

I never asked for the hurt and pain,

Or for the nights that were half insane.

I never asked for fights that were wild,

Or to grow up a bewildered child.

I never asked you to beat up my mom,

Or for a blanket to help keep me warm.

I never asked you to leave me alone,

Or to grow up in a broken-down home.

I never asked for this horrible life,

Or for the conflicts, the quarrels and strife.

I never once asked that I be defiled,

Or to grow up a bewildered child.

I never asked to be raised in a prison,

Or to see darkness though the sun had risen.

I never asked you to raise Holy Hell,

Or for my bedroom to be like a jail cell.

I never asked to be used and abused,

Or to sit in my room dazed and confused.

I never asked for the crap that has piled,

Or to grow up a bewildered child.

I never asked for a brand-new bike,

Or for any toys that I used to like.

I never asked you to throw me a ball,

Or for the bruises when I took a “fall”.

I never asked once but I’m asking you now,

I hope you make me understand somehow.

How you could treat me so fucking bad,

I never asked you to be my dad.

Why Women Cry. Watch her eyes 

A little boy asked his mother, “Why are you crying?” “Because I’m a woman,” she told him. I don’t understand,” he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will.”

Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?” All women cry for no reason,” was all his dad could say.

The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry. Finally he put in a call to God. When God got on the telephone, he asked, “God, why do women cry so easily?”

God said: “When I made the woman she had to be special.

I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet gentle enough to give comfort.

I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and weariness without complaining.

I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly.

I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.

I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfaltering.

And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed.”

“You see my son,” said God, “the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart – the place where love resides.”


Love Changed Me

My family is more important than wealth and privilege and gold – it cannot be bought or traded or sold.

My love knows NO law, NO pity, NO fear, it dares all things and crushes down mercilessly and relentlessly ALL that stands in its path.

My love gets messy, mean, sometimes it even draws blood. It clings and gets maddening with repetitive patterns, like horrendously bad wall-paper in a room the color of, “No one wants to chill here, man…”

I argue, I fight, even stop talking to ALL of them at once. However, until the end of my days, the love is still always there – flawless, raw, and faultless.

Chosen and impeccable and absolutely, undefeated.

Because love changes people.

Love changed me.

The light waded through the trenches of darkness, slithering, and sliding, echoing me being wet throughout its mirrored and appealing, seductive surface. You see all this time I have been waiting in a state of, longing – for it to release me of the night snares, with its gone eyes and blank stares.

A familiar strange, again, you and I meeting this way – your darkened eyes alongside the coming, sunrise. It’s hard to look at you, so bright – the light you exude aches my eyes. With a step back, you raise my chin. Our eyes lock briefly before I, turn.

Will I run?

Will I fight?

Who knows – I just might.

When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. Some of them are bent, some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are, whatever. And you look at the tree and allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. When the light faded out again, it turned another way. It became crooked and, bent. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree.

The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. Don’t you think that is, strange? And you are constantly saying, “You’re to this” or “I’m to that.” That judging mind comes in. I wonder what would happen if we looked at people like, trees… Will we ever appreciate people for exactly what they are?