She used to drink viles of GHB after a night alone and a pile of cocaine, after the pot stopped working. She would chug it and wonder if she drank too much and is she going to die now. After a half hour and still standing she would repeat the same insanity again until she would pass out, then suddenly wake, alert again. She would remember that she needed to eat, and binge on cream cheese and salsa until she became sick, and gagged and threw up the GHB, leaving piles of her insides throughout the apartment, knowing that no one would visit because every day was 4 am, and the real world was sleeping. Her television and figuring out Blues Clues was better than real human contact, because she was not suitable for life.
Her own voice couldn’t come out, because of the swollen glands on her tongue. Cocaine plagued her body, and her soul. In those Texas days she hated her own existence, and every day, every new pile of drugs, every man that reminded her of a father, and every unanswered prayer… tortured her because she wanted more. She wanted out, but didn’t know how. Trudging around in the middle of the night, with puke in her hair, scars on her crack-picked arms, and an untended cat box for a dead kitten she doused with too much flea dip and forgot to rinse, was not living her higher purpose.
Today those tears and prayers with the bottle have been answered.
Amber’s worse day sober is better than her best day loaded.
Amber’s sobriety is her biggest gift to herself.
There is a nice calm chill today in Los Angeles, and Amber is frustrated with all the mud we tracked in from the weekend. The maid is coming Wednesday, and a quick trip to the groomer is coming our way. Annmarie did her best attempt at cleaning the hard-wood floors, but instead of a nice solid clean, the oil she used made our floors as slick as silk. Everyone stumbled around like Bambi on ice because the oil-cleaner was overused. It was the perfect floor for a nice bowling game. Annmarie was oblivious to it all as she stayed in her room, chatting up the latest gossip on her phone. No one said a word to her about it because we would rather have oil on the floor than our doggie hair. So we slipped around for a bit before Amber wiped up the last of the oil. A serene home with candles, clean dogs, and nice music fitting to her mood is something Amber really enjoys. Annmarie and her dog are leaving for a few days- and it will be so quiet that Amber will be able to hear herself breath. That used to scare her, but she has invited God to stay near her.
Now being alone for a moment is not the horror it was years ago. Would it be better for me to not be so truthful here, and only write about perfection? Amber wouldn’t want that, and neither do I. We are here on earth to live and to learn. Some lessons come harder than others. Today Amber is a fully functioning artist, with friends who suit up and show up. Life is blessed.
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