Today is World AIDS Day

Make sure that you wear a red ribbon in support of those who are living with HIV/AIDS. This portion of our population is heavily discriminated against due to myths that still exist about this disease. How well do you understand HIV/AIDS?

Do you think you could pass a quiz?

Take one here.

Take this opportunity to raise awareness and educate others with regard to this illness. Watch a video with regard to universal healthcare access.

Get involved at any of these organizations.

Do what you can to help support those who are living with this disease. Kindness and compassion go a long way.

"Hello, Ex-Nurse!"

The first time I heard these words, I almost shook with fright.

What am I to be if not a nurse? Where do I go from here?

I made a decision during my 12 weeks of intensive outpatient therapy. I opted not to reinstate my nursing license. After a lot of soul searching and mulling the process over, I decided that nursing was no longer going to be a part of my future.

When I received my contract from the nursing board, they made some extraordinary demands of me; demands that I know I would never be able to comply with while attempting to get out into the workforce again. I thought long and hard about this decision and I decided that it would be in my best interest to let it go. The past 12 weeks in IOP taught me a lot about myself and the things I want to do with my future.

That's when I came to realize that nursing was not a part of what I wanted to do with my life.

I called my counselor and told him this. He said he wasn't really surprised, as this wasn't the first time he heard me allude to this.

"It's not in my heart any longer," I told him.

And you know what? That's okay. A long time ago, I had a first love. That first love was writing. It always has been. It always will be. While nursing was a challenge, it never fulfilled me the way my writing did. I have been published a number of times. When I walked away from that to pursue a career in nursing, I felt like I put a part of my soul away.

I am 43 years old. It is getting late in life not to pursue dreams.

With that said, I am going back to my dreams of writing for a newspaper. I have written editorials for magazines before. I have a vast collection of work that I have done over the years, work that I am very proud of. When I went to college a million years ago, my major was journalism.

With the support of my husband, I am going to pursue this dream of mine.

I realize that newspapers are a dying breed, so more than likely, it will mean writing for online news journals, but I am ready to take on this challenge. In the interim, I will probably work as a medical assistant in a doctors office, as I will no longer be able to represent myself as a nurse. But, having nights and weekends off will allow me to pursue this dream of mine. The flexibility will allow me to write creatively once more.

I am 97 days sober and I have never seen anything more clearly in my entire life. I am ready for this next stage, this next step. Careers are one thing, passions are quite another. I am ready to forgo my career and let my passion run rampant once again. It will be a dream come true to parlay my passion into a new career.

I don't know if it is smart to start my life over at this juncture, but I can't allow myself to look back and know I never tried.

One door closes. Another opens.

I am ready to step through this new door. It's time.

Down to the wire...

At this moment, I am 72 days, 13 hours and 53 minutes sober.

Had I not had that unfortunate slip up (read:relapse) back in August, it would have been 174 days, 13 hours and 53 minutes.

Oh well. Can't look backwards. Must keep forging ahead.

This is week 11 of my 12 week intensive outpatient program. I remember at week one that I scarcely knew how I would get through it. I walked in there angry at having to be there. I felt like I was being punished heavily. And, in some aspects, I have a right to feel that way. But, I Have since let that go. I have gained a lot from these classes.

So much so, that I think I will continue attending a few of them even after graduation. I doubt I will go five days a week like I am doing right now, but once or twice a week? Definately. It's keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Finishing up next week now leads me to a whole new area to ponder. What's on the horizon next? The Nursing Board mandates that I finish this program successfully. By next week, I will have accomplished that. After this, they send you out a contract that will state how long I must continue to be monitored. Sometimes it's a year. Sometimes, three. I've also heard they go as long as five. I will get my license back, but there will probably be some restrictions like the inability to dispense narcotics for a set period of time. This is going to make finding a job very difficult.

You also have to disclose to your prospective employer that you are being monitored by the program. I don't know too many places that will want to take on a nurse in recovery. There will be mandatory random drug tests at 3-5 tests a month. They also limit where you can and cannot work. No home health. No night shifts. No surgery centers, which is upsetting to me since surgery is my specialty.

A whole new set of challenges ahead of me. But, I can get through them.

I'm a little bit stronger than I once thought.

Celebrating Nicholas.

Let me start by saying how much I love my daughter, Samantha. She's an amazing girl. She's smart, cute, funny and embodies the personification of a loving human being. She's a really good girl. I was very blessed with this child. She was the perfect pregnancy and then, the perfect child. We are close and with the birth of my grandaughter Sadie and the imminent birth of my grandson Liam in January, we have only become closer. Sharing motherhood is a bond between mother and daughter that cannot be described.

That said, let me tell you about Nicholas. He turned 14 yesterday, on Halloween. When Nick was born, he had massive heart and lung defects. He wasn't expected to live let alone thrive the way he has. An open heart surgery later, after months of being on a heart monitor and sleep apnea machine, he has not only grown but has thrived, turning into a strapping young man who is healthy in every way.

Nick and I are abnormally close. I say abnormally because most mothers and sons do not talk about every aspect of their lives the way Nick and I do. We bond over music especially. We are both musicians. He plays the clarinet, guitar and drums. I am a classically trained pianist and oboe player. Music is our joy and we spend most of our time hanging out, listening to various artists. He has gotten me to appreciate Metallica and Slipknot. I have introduced him to classic rock such as Aerosmith and Pink Floyd.

We hang out all the time. Just...hang out. We find many of the same things to be "cool". He has no problem introducing me to his friends and telling them how awesome I am. I let him hang out with me and my adult friends because the kid really knows how to have fun. We talk politics. He is a staunch Democrat and of course, being the liberal (leaning toward liberatarian) that I am, I appreciate his candor and knowledge.

Basically, he is the coolest kid I have ever known. He is a little mini-me. Most of all, we share the mutual love of tormenting his father, my ex husband. We don't bash the man of course, because that would be wrong, but we both kind of agree that he isn't as "cool" as we are. He tries...but it just doesn't come together for him.

Nick got his first kiss ever at his school's Halloween dance this past weekend. And, where most boys wouldn't discuss it with their mothers, we talked about it in detail, right up to the moment where he and his little girlfriend, Kristi, counted down 3...2...1...KISS! It cracked me up and he enjoyed seeing me laugh about this awkward time for him.

At night, I go into his room, smooth back his mop of curls and kiss his forehead. When he's asleep, he's back to being my baby; the little one curled up in his crib with all the tubes and wires attached to him to make sure he gets through the night still breathing. We've gotten through everything from divorce to swine flu together. And when he is sleeping, I remember the days that the doctors told me not to be hopeful about his survival.

I couldn't imagine my life without Nicholas in it. He's the reason I spend most of my days laughing even when there is nothing much to smile about. He's the sanity in my life and the reason, somedays, I have the strength to get out of bed and go on.

Happy birthday, Nicholas. Many, many more to come, for us to share...

Mommy loves you.

And yes, I know you read my blog, you little shit. Mind your own business.

Don't you have some homework to do?

The History of Halloween and Five Fun Facts

(Stolen from The Huffington Post). Enjoy!

Americans love Halloween. We as a country spend over $5 billion a year celebrating it. But where did the holiday come from? And how did traditions like asking strangers for food and dressing up as ghosts develop?

Halloween has its roots in Samhain (pronounced sow-in), an ancient harvest festival held at the end of the Celtic year. The festival marked the end of summer and the beginning of the dark wintertime. It was believed the spirits of the dead returned on this eve to damage crops and play tricks on the living. It was also believed that the Celtic priests, or Druids, were able to make predictions about the future, which they did during large bonfire celebrations where they wore animal skins and sacrificed crops and animals to the spirits.

In early A.D., Romans came to the Celtic territories of modern day England, Scotland and Northern France, and were the first people to influence the celebration of Samhain. They brought their own holidays: Feralia, the Roman day to honor the dead in late October, as well as another holiday to honor Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit and trees. It is possible that this Roman influence is the reason apples are given out and bobbed for on Halloween.

By 800 A.D., Christianity spread to the Celtic Territories and brought with it another holiday, "All Saints Day." Pope Boniface IV, the designator of All Saints Day, was likely trying to replace Samhain with a similar but holier holiday meant to honor saints and martyrs. Later on, All Saints Day was renamed "All Hallows" and thus the day of Samhain (Oct. 31st) began to be called "All Hallows Eve," and eventually shortened to "Hallowe'en."

All of the holidays that were melded together to create our modern version of Halloween involved dressing up in one way or another. The celebrators of Samhain wore animal skins at their bonfire celebrations and those that observed "All Saints Day" often dressed as saints or angels. Later on men in Scotland would impersonate the dead on the day, explaining the ghoulish tradition we still observe.

During the mid 1800's, Irish and English immigrants flooded the United States and brought Halloween with them. From these immigrants we received the Halloween traditions we recognize today, however skewed they are now. For instance, the first trick-or-treaters were far from today's smiling children with commercialized costumes. They lived in Medieval England, and practiced "souling," in which poor people would beg for sweet breads, in return for praying for the families' souls. Later, the immigrants who brought Halloween to America would develop their own version of trick-or-treating, but it didn't become popular here until the 1930s.

1) Halloween Is The Second Highest Grossing Commercial Holiday After Christmas

What used to be just a singular holiday with minimal things to purchase has turned into an entire "Halloween Season." Between decorative lights and lawn ornaments, elaborate costumes and loads of candy, the average American spends a pretty penny on this fall holiday. However popular Halloween has become, the recession has affected spending for this year's spooky night. Spending is down, according the the National Retail Federation. Shoppers will spend an average of $56.31 on the holiday compared to $66.54 in 2008. Some ways people are cutting down include making homemade costumes, using last year's decorations and buying less expensive candies. For the children's sake, let's hope everyone doesn't resort to giving out apples and pennies. Didn't you just hate that as a kid?

2) Harry Houdini Died On October 31, 1926

The famous magician was killed (accidentally) by a McGill University student named J. Gordon Whitehead who was hitting him in the stomach repeatedly as part of a stunt. A week later he died of peritonitis from a ruptured appendix. Despite acute appendicitis, Houdini refused to seek medical treatment.

3) There's A Phobia For That

Samhainophobia is an intense and persistent fear of Halloween that can cause panic attacks in sufferers. Other relevant phobias for this time of year: wiccaphobia (fear of witches), phasmophobia (fear of ghosts), and coimetrophobia (fear of cemeteries).

4) The First Jack-O-Lanterns Weren't Made Out Of Pumpkins

They were originally hollowed-out turnips. The modern practiced mutated from the Irish tradition of carving faces of the the dead onto the gourds and putting candles inside to make them glow. These days your Jack-O-Lantern is most made out of a pumpkin, which most likely came from Illinois--a state that grew 542 million pounds of pumpkin in 2007.

5) One Quarter Of All The Candy Sold Annually Is For Halloween Night

Yes, no matter how much we eat for Christmas and Thanksgiving, Halloween has corned the market on candy. As a country we consume 20 million pounds of candy corn a year. Handing out Halloween treats is the perfect excuse to eat some too, as four-in-ten (41%) adults admit that they sneak sweets from their own candy bowl. And if you're a kid, hang on to your basket, because home is where the candy thief is as 90% of parents admit to sneaking goodies from their kids' Halloween trick-or-treat bags. But whether your stealing some, handing out some or having yours stolen, chances are you'll get your hands (or miss getting your hands) on a Snickers bar, it has been the number 1 Halloween candy for years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Happy 14th Birthday to my Halloweenie, Nicholas.

Fridays are good days.

I love Fridays.

My husband works out of town, in California more specifically, Monday through Thursday. When he finally gets home on Fridays, I am positively overjoyed. I miss him so much during the week that it is almost unbearable.

It is really hard being apart so much. I feel almost...disconnected, for lack of a better word, from him when he is gone. We don't get to talk as often as I would like to. When we do, it is only a perfunctory conversation; the basics that include "hi, how are you?" and "how was your day?" Usually, the conversation doesn't go much beyond the "I'm fine" and "it was good". I know there is so much more than that for the both of us, but it is like neither one of us wants to burden the other with the mundane details.

When he gets home on Fridays, there is so much joy in this house. The kids are happy to see him. I am overcome with glee.

He works so hard Monday through Friday and then he has 8 hours worth of travel to get home. So, when he gets here, he is exhausted. He works from home on Fridays, so that day is usually spent. But, at least he is here, under our roof and in my arms.

Nothing more really matters.

When Rape Becomes Funny

I have been blogging for five years. I have shared the triumphs and tribulations of many bloggers during this time. There have been posts that make me laugh out loud. Some have even moved me to tears. Rarely there is anything that leaves me speechless...until now.

On October 28th, a 15 year old child was gang raped by a group of five very disgusting men. This occured while a crowd of minimally 20 people stood idly by and watched this crime being committed. It is an utter disgrace and a tragic statement about our society and the lack of willingness to get involved. As far as I am concerned, the people sho stood there watching as this child was violated repeatedly are just as guilty as the offenders themselves.

Of course, I am talking from a personal stance.

Back to blogging. My dear friend, Avitable wrote about this situation. However, his take on it was one of a humorous perspective in his blogpost titled Gang Rape: Looking Deeper Basically, what he was attempting to do was make a statement about the onlookers and what could have possibly possessed them to just stand there and do nothing.

You will have to read the post to understand what I am referring to.

Anyway, if you read through the comments, you will find that many women were hurt by the post. Some accused him of making fun of the victim. He wasn't doing that at all. Rather, he was making commentary on the pathetic onlookers and their lack of vigilance when it came to helping this poor girl.

I get that. And, in some comments, I even stood up for him.

However, it doesn't negate the fact that making light of rape is never a funny issue, regardless of attempting to use humor to assuage the pain. I have to admit, as a survivor of a gang rape, I didn't find the post amusing. My ex-boyfriend, Tony, who I have written about countless times, passed me around to a few of his buddies. I was spit on. I was violated. I had my hair pulled. I was hit and battered. I was bit. And, this occurred while a few other people sat in my living room, not partaking...but rather, observing. No one stopped this. No one stepped in. Only ONE person "suggested" that they go get something to eat instead of continuing. It was said very passively and not for my benefit at all. I was left on the floor to rot. To cry. To curl up in a fetal position, wishing that the floor would suddenly open and my battered body would fall away freeing me from the utter pain and despair that I was feeling.

Last night, Avitable's post brought that all back to me. I read his post when he first put it up. I didn't fall asleep until several hours later. I was crying. I was shaken. I let him know that in a comment; that while I understood his intent, that he was sending me to bed in tears. Several other women expressed their pain upon reading his post. While I defend his freedom to write as he sees fit, I can't deny that I felt anger and disgust toward what he had chose to blog about. I posed the question if this had happened to his wife, would he still be able to bring himself to form a humorous post about it?

He didn't reply to that particular question...and that's okay. There would be no need for him to state the obvious.

Having said all this, I get the intent of his post. I know he wasn't out to hurt his female readers (though I must admit that the most angry comment that I read was from a man). However, he did pick open the scabs of old wounds for many of us.

I have been thinking about his post all day long. I can't shake it from my head.

There are some things in this life that should never be made light of and rape is one of them. It destroys lives. It shatters and demeans people. It is a crime that stays with you for the rest of your life. It strips you of your ability to trust human beings. It steals your faith in God. It rips you of your dignity. It is heinous and ruthless. In my eyes, it is worse than murder. You are left to live your life dead inside; a heap of damage and ruin.

Women have died at their own hand for being unable to live after being raped.

I love Adam. He is one of my dearest friends, online and off. I treasure his candor and his comedy. He is always out to find the humor in any situation and funny, for him, is the end all/be all. Anything for the laugh. I would never suggest to him that he censor his words. I wouldn't want anyone to tell me what I can and cannot write about. These are our blogs, our outlets. And, for Adam, humor was the way to deal with the pain of the situation. At least, that was his reasoning.

I choose to believe that because I trust him.

I can only hope that other women who have been his longtime readers can reach a place of understanding. I hope they don't hurt from his words. I hope that they can forgive him for this particular blogpost and that they know what is actually in his heart.

Most of all, I hope that he is NEVER put in the position of knowing that type of pain when it comes to the women in his life.

It would render him speechless.

Nick...in love.

My son has just recently fell in love.

The whole concept of it...I can't wrap my head around it. He's a sweet and sensitive boy. Very caring despite his somewhat aggressive demeanor. In other words, he is very much his mothers son. He is pretty hardcore, tough...but underneath it all, he has a very nurturing nature. He doesn't like people to hurt others and he sure as hell doesn't like it when people hurt him.

He's known this girl for a very long time. They were very close friends. Recently, on a school trip, he decided to ask her out. Now, five days later, they are hugging up on each other, texting until all hours of the night and...much to my dismay, telling each other that they love each other. It's not that I doubt his feelings. I just don't know that he knows exactly what love is.

I sure as hell didn't at 13 years old...but I had an idea.

I fell in love with a guy from my neighborhood when I was about that age. He was older, lanky and outright funny. He made me laugh all the time with his carefree ways and his "I don't give a shit" attitude. I followed him around like a puppy dog. To me, he was the epitome of what a first boyfriend should be. Not that he was ever my boyfriend...it was more a "hooking up" thing, as the kids nowadays call it. (How old did that make ME sound?) I remember when he first kissed me. I felt all this crazy shit I never felt before. I doodled his name all over the walls of my room, notebooks, napkins...whatever I could take a pen to, it had his name on it.

And, of course, I remember the first time I slept with him. He seemed so self-assured, like he knew what he was doing. I was completely lost, but I let him guide me through it. We stayed really good friends after that, but it was never the same for me. I never had the love that went along with a "first time". I knew he cared about me and thought I was a great "kid". Still, my heart ached for so much more that I never received from him.

God, I can even remember what song was playing. "Mind Games", by John Lennon.

I think of him whenever I hear that song. Sometimes, I play it on purpose, just to reconnect with the memory.

I believe a part of me is always going to love him, even now, 30 years later.

Recently having reconnected with this person on Facebook and at my Junior High reunion has reminded me how special a moment it was. This kid, this man...he made something awkward and strange into a memory that has lasted me for a lifetime. He's still a very special guy. Very special to me. We have a connection that has sort of transcended time. And while we joke and kid around like we did in the old days, I know he still has a soft spot for me in his heart as well.

It's the coolest thing I have ever experienced.

I was at a party the other night and got into a conversation with a VERY drunk 15 year old kid. He was going on and on about all the "bitches" that he fucked. And while it was morbidly amusing to hear a 15 year olds take on fucking bitches, there was a part of me that was extremely sad. This kid doesn't get it. He doesn't realize that there is so much more behind making love to someone. Then again, maybe he is doing it right...staying detached and uninvolved. Who knows.

He told me, in his drunken state, that if my son was even kind of good looking (which he ABSOLUTELY is) that he is probably "fucking bitches". I told this kid that my son was not "fucking bitches" at all. As a matter of fact, he hasn't even had his first kiss yet. I know he is eagerly waiting for it...but it just hasn't happened for him.

But, I hope when it does, it is something that he will look back on fondly and with great affection. I hope it is an amazing experience for him. I hope that when he is my age, he will be able to play a love song that will transport him back to a time when he was innocent and untouched by the world. Unscathed and not jaded. I hope it's with a person that he will always think back on and nod his head, smiling.

I had that. I pray he will have it someday too.

Is that too much for a mother to ask for?

We're SO outta here!!!

Well, this is it.

The night of the huge bash in Altamonte Springs, FL, affectionately known as "Avitaween". This will be our third year attending his incredible Halloween get together. Every year gets a bit more massive than the next. If you ever get the chance to come to Florida around Halloween, I would highly suggest you manage to get yourself invited to this event.

Here's a good reason why!

Tons of food, open bar, amazing conversations with bloggers from all over the country, karaoke, great costumes, fantastic decorations. Every year, this party never fails to disappoint. I look forward to it all year long.

I didn't even mention the big orgy at the end of the night. It's a real DNA fest.

And then came Jessica.

Let me preface this post by saying the following:

I understand the disease of addiction. I know it makes you say and do things you would not normally do. I understand that it grabs you and refuses to let go, even when you will it to. It is a disease that has no "cure". It is an affliction you live with for the rest of your life. I get it. I understand it. And, of course, I empathize with it, not just as a nurse but someone in active recovery.

That said, all empathy went out the proverbial window tonight when I met Jessica.

I've seen Jessica before. She's been to my outpatient therapy classes a few times. Everytime she was there, I would watch her. She would nod out. She would roll her eyes. She would scratch her skin incessantly; something that opiate addicts do when their drug levels are pretty high. I knew she was an addict. I mean, everyone there is at varying stages of recovery.

Jessica is there voluntarily. She was not court appointed. She was not mandated to go there by her job or anything like that. Rather, Jessica was there on the advice of her attorney. Jessica was busted by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) for trafficking drugs. She was caught with approximately $20,000 worth of opiates in her home. They had been taping her and her boyfriend for months, under their ever watchful scrutiny, just waiting for her to fuck up. And, as all addicts, fuck up she did. She sold some opiates to an agent who was wearing a wire. In an instant, a swarm of undercover agents busted open her door and infested her house. They tore the place apart finding her entire stash, guns and a shitload of cash. Everything was confiscated and Jessica, along with her boyfriend, were taken to jail.

She was released to the custody of her grandparents with a bond of $125,000 dollars.

Jessica is looking at approximately 9-20 years in prison. She is 21 years old and basically, she has thrown her entire life away. Her story broke my heart. She is only a couple of years younger than my own daughter. She's in a huge amount of trouble. Huge.

Tonight, Jessica came into group, high again and proceeded to tell us how much she "misses the lifestyle" that her drug dealing afforded her.

"I had a Jaguar with only one payment left on it," she said. "I had my own home. I never had to work a day in my life."

Slowly, I felt my empathy wasting away. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths to try to calm down my contempt. Okay. She misses the money. Alright. Fine. Not for me to judge. I opted to stay silent and let her finish talking.

"I really don't HAVE to be here," she continued, "it will just look good to the judge if I show him that I am getting help."

10...9...8...

"I'm really only here because I sold drugs. I'm not an addict."

7...6...5...another cleansing breath...

"You all are here because you have to be. I don't have to be here. My lawyer said I should come."

4...3...2...BREATH, CP, BREATH.

"I'm in the middle of school, getting my Associates Degree right now. I'm graduating in December."

And inside, I had reached DEFCOM ONE.

"Jessica," I said, pointedly, "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Did your drug money pay for school?"

"No," she said with the slightest smirk on her face. "I got financial aid."

HOUSTON...WE HAVE LIFT OFF!

"So, you are telling me that you could afford a Jaguar, your own home, didn't have to work a day in your life, but you applied and received financial aid?"

"Yep."

Now, I am fuming. If you're an addict, you're an addict. You want to kill yourself in the process with the drugs, by all means, kill yourself with the drugs. It's your choice what to do with your own body, your own life. But I am listening to this CHILD tell me how she made nearly a hundred thousand dollars by dealing to others. Then, on top of this, she steals the financial aid out of the pockets of kids who are earnestly trying to make something out of themselves.

"Didn't you make enough money to pay your tuition?"

"Yes, but why should I pay for it if I could get financial aid?"

This is about the time that CP lost her fucking mind.

"What's the matter, CP," my counselor inquires. He knows damn fucking well what's the matter with me. He is just encouraging me to blow up on this kid. He wants her to get it both barrels, not just from me, but from every member of the group.

"What's the matter with me? The matter with me is that I broke my fucking ass to get my child her college education. I worked double shifts at the hospital. My husband took an extra job to supplement us. She didn't qualify for financial aid because, on paper, it looked like my husband made too much money. We scrimped and saved for her to be able to go...and this...this...ARGH!"

I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth. For the first time in a very long time, I flipped out. Lost my patience. And then, I turned inward. I had no business yelling at her. But, in that moment, I hated her. I absolutely hated this girl because she represented every single thing that I can't stand. People that suck the system dry. People who callously abuse the privilege of financial aid...taking from the "have nots". I detest that.

But, I shut up. I stopped talking.

Thankfully, the rest of the group felt exactly the same way I did. They took turns admonishing her for various things. Her abuse of the financial aid system. The fact that she was coming to counseling for the show of it all. The fact that she came in there completely fucked up on drugs...because she could.

To see her there swaying back and forth, scratching her arms and legs, her eyes rolling back in her head? Huge trigger factor for many in the group. Not a good thing for a room full of addicts to be privy to. It's unfair to the rest of us to have to sit there, actively trying to recover, while this little one comes in because it looks good to the court.

Our counselor asked us if this was upsetting us, seeing her like this, listening to what she was saying. We all agreed that it did. It bothered us all immensely for various reasons. We have all been there. We all know what it is like to fall asleep in the middle of whatever we were doing. No judgment there. But in this situation, there are people who are struggling to stay clean. They are submitting to drug testing. They are in danger of dying if they don't do everything they can to get well. And these people should be the top priority.

I left the office feeling very angry, hurt and confused. There was no regret in her voice. She isn't taking responsibility for anything. She's not interested in getting clean. She's interested in not doing 9-20 years for trafficking. She's interested in getting felony probation. She's interested in getting the hell out of our class so she can go home and keep using.

And, unfortunately and much to my dismay, she left me feeling the same way.

I won't pick up. I won't use. My life and sobriety is too important to me. I have come way too far to allow this to shake me, to bring me to my knees. But, she put it in the back of my mind, my addicted mind and I don't like the way it feels. It's uncomfortable to sit with this feeling in my chest and in my mind. I haven't been triggered to want to use in a long time.

Then came Jessica.

And I hate her for leaving me alone with this monster.