Thankful at 26

I'm alive.  I've made it one more year.  I am 26 years old.  Yesterday was my birthday, and I have to admit that I felt a little off.  Not sad, or angry, or anything else that I could really figure out...just off.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until I heard a terrible story, and then I figured out what it was. 

My mom works at a church and she has the very difficult task, sometimes, to assist with funerals.  She's had to help with baby funerals, teenage funerals, elderly funerals, you name it.  Well, yesterday, on my 26th birthday, she had to work the funeral of a 26 year old young woman.  This young woman was married with two children, and believed to have accidentally overdosed on painkillers.  Now, I have always believed that everything happens for a reason, but it's hard to see the reason in this.  Was she an addict?  I don't know.  Was it truely an accident?  Don't know that either.  All I do know is that a way too young woman died from something I could have died from many times.  Hearing about this, at first, made me sad.  I got really sad for her husband, really sad for her kids, really sad for the rest of her family, and really sad for her.  And then I got angry.  I got really really angry.  I wanted to cuss someone out.  I wanted to cuss out the doctor who prescribed her the painkillers, I wanted to cuss out the companies that keep making stronger and stronger painkillers.  And last but not least, I really wanted to cuss out the Devil. 

Now, I don't know this girl's history.  I don't know if she was an addict, or if she was just in so much pain that she just took a little too much of whatever it was she was taking.  I don't know the details of her life, or anything like that, but I know mine.  And I know that this death hit so close to home, it made me feel sick to my stomach.  I saw myself lying in that coffin.  I saw my daughter looking into it screaming for mommy to wake up.  I saw my beautiful husband comforting my daughter while tears ran down his face.  I saw my parents, my brothers, my sister, my grandma, my aunts, everyone who loves me, and I thanked God for one more year.  I thanked God that it wasn't me.  I thanked God that my daughter still has her mommy, and that my husband still has his wife.  I thanked God that He has helped me see that I have a problem so I won't end up in the coffin before it's my time. 

I see, more clearly than ever, that Satan hates me.  He hates me so much, and he wants me in that coffin due to drug abuse.  I realized that the "off feeling" I was experiencing yesterday was my addiction rearing its ugly little head.  This was the first birthday since my 20th (pregnant with Anahi at the time) that I have been sober, and it was uncomfortable.  God showed me yesterday that one more year is something I should be thrilled about.  One more year for someone like me is a slap in the devil's face.  One more year for me is a victory.  Hell, let's face it, one more DAY is a victory.  I'm not going to let this addiction take my life away, and I sure as hell am not going to let this addiction ruin my childrens' lives.  I have to be stronger.  I have to fight with every ounce of myself.  I have to suck it up when I feel shitty, because I have made it one more year, and I have many more to go.  I refuse to be another statistic, and I refuse to let this addiction, to let the devil, take my life.  I have way too many birthdays coming up.





(God bless the family of this young beauty who died much too early.  I don't know you, angel, but I thank you for the gift you gave me on my birthday, and I will pray for your children and your husband for the rest of my life.) 

Learning to Cook

My husband is awesome.  For many reasons, this is true, but for the moment, I am referring to the fact that he is a chef.  He is a sous chef at a country club, and he has never had any formal education.  He has a passion for food the way Oprah has a passion for hearing herself talk.  Now, if only we could get the millions that she does for her passion...hmmm. 

Anyway, he has recently decided that he wants to teach me how to cook.  We've been together for 6.5 years, so one may wonder why I haven't learned yet.  Let me just say to that; why would one paint a picture while living with Picasso?  I mean, really, there has been no reason.  Until recently when I decided that since I'm a wife now, I should probably start to do some wifely things, and stop making him cook 24/7.  Although he does love it, cooking all day at work, only to come home to cook again for me and Anahi is just a teensy weensy unfair. 

Today was my first lesson.  I have half of a chicken roasting in the oven as I type.  It smells delicious, and am hoping that it will taste just as good.  I'm a little worried about it, because as I will soon elaborate, I don't like to do things half-ass.   I had a conversation with my seester (that's "sister" in normal people talk) about how I need to stop trying to make my days, and my life this "all or nothing" type of situation.  I agreed with her, and definitely noticed at the time of our little chat that I do have a tendency to do this in almost all areas of my life, but it became real as I was shoving my hand inside of the chicken.  I got scared. 

Indeed it is a bit scary to discover all of the little tidbits left inside the chicken to pull out with your hands, but that is not what I mean, surprisingly.  I got scared that I was going to mess up, and I immediately felt the urge to give up.  All or nothing...there it was, in the form of chicken jiblets, staring me right in the face.  The fact that if I don't think I can do something perfectly, I don't want to do it.  This is often how I feel (I've come to learn) in my every day life.  This is probably one of the big reasons I struggle with addiction.  When I'm high, I feel capable.  Let me now emphasize the "FEEL" part, because in all actuality, I'm not much more capable than when I'm sober.  I most often would sit on the couch, feeling capable, but doing absolutely nothing about it.  The difference is that I'm ok with not doing anything about it.  I don't feel guilty.  I'm ok with my laziness when I'm high.  I'm ok doing the "nothing" instead of the "all."

So, I've come to realize that it's better to feel incapable, while getting some stuff done (no matter how imperfectly) than to feel capable while not doing a damn thing with myself.  I want to learn how to mess up and be ok with it.  I'm thinking that learning to cook will help me to do that, and I look forward to it.