Burning Desire.

By levi jones 01/11/18
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This is why I didn't stay.

Because when I got to this lovely town and found this lovely meeting, you were the first person to smile and say "Welcome." 

Because you told me you could tell by my eyes I had a beautiful soul.

Because I told you all my secrets and all my stories and all my pain and all my shame, and when I got a DUI and called you because there was no one else to call, your first thought was that you didn't want our names connected. 

Your second was to fuck me senseless the next day.

Because I came and cleaned your house and you fucked me and then when you paid me it seemed like not enough and I wondered what you were paying me for.

Because you fucked me when you know I wasn't sober.

Because you fucked me when I finally got sober again.

Because I got blindsided by the news that you had a girlfriend, and I came to you drunk and in tears and you chose that moment to introduce a huge dildo to my vagina.

because the next night when I came to you you wouldn't even talk to me, it seems someone else was there.

So I moved on, and fell into something else, something that crushed me and nearly killed me, once when I came to you to hide and feel safe, and I told you no, it took a knee to the balls for you to stop.

Because a year later, a year that saw me sober, drunk, arrested, assaulted, and running, running, running, you came to visit me in my new safe place.

I was safe, but not sober. But you came. For after all, it's what matters most.

And you came again.

And again.

And then one day when I was in the in the pits, at the bottom, when you called I said no I can't because I had a glass of wine. 

So you said "pack a bag" and picked us up. Me and the dog. And off we went for a weekend adventure. Fa la fucking la. Minus the fa la la. I remember you leaving me there, on the couch with my dog. I remember you waking me in the morning telling me you were going to a meeting. I remember telling you when you came back to "please take me home", because the shame was drowning me, and also I wanted to drink the rest of the wine.

I remember you using your Program Voice to ask me "Are you done?", as I stared out the window and cried. And I remember the last thing you asked me was "What are you gonna do now?"

And I said "Pray".

So I escaped that weekend. Escaped the fear, escaped the alcohol, suffered withdrawal so bad that DR. Seuss was alive and well in my little apartment by the sea. And I went back to hell. Fear and love and not being good enough and hell. But. But I knew I would be too afraid to drink where I was. 

And it worked. I reported at court, I went to therapy, I went to meetings, I got back to work, I had a program. I had a sponsor. I was repairing and healing and clearing up the wreckage. And I got strong enough or afraid enough to escape the hell.

And there you were.  Casual, "How are You?" 

And there it went. Boat. Sex. Bike. Sex. Beach. Sex. Sidework. Sex. Clean your house. Sex. Sex here there and everywhere. But it was more, it was different, there was dinner and walks and the beach and the bay and talking talking talking. And me. And you. And safety and comfort.  For days. And then radio silence.

And then sexboatbikebaydogsdinnerscleaningfamilystoresshoppingthriftfunandsex. And radio silence.

And then sadness. Utter complete sadness. And you called and I was there. Maybe not for you but for me, and for him, the sadness I felt, the bone-chilling familiarity. And you came and you went but it became what I did. I spent time, I spent energy. I spent my trust. And I spent myself.

And you come and go, you came and went, you are there and you're not. 

And I hear gossip, always gossip. And I think but no, he has been with me twenty-five out of thirty days, and the others he was with his sponsor, or his family, or sponsees.

And I try. I smile, I go to meetings, I show up for work, I work on my relationships with my mom, my son, my history. BUt there's this feeling, this knowing I have failed. I have been not enough, not sexy enough, not sober enough, not good enough, not dirty enough.

I find my self in a room with a woman whose bed you fucked me on and I wonder why you walk her out to her car when after me, after I go pee and wipe my mouth and spit, after me, you say"could you turn out all the lights?" and maybe, just maybe, "be safe."

And finally, finally, one day, I call you on it. And you rip into me about being selfish and then go on and on and on about your pain. And I cry, and I apologize. And I blow you. And I leave. And cry.

And cry and cry and cry. At night. Always at night. And during the day. ANd I hide it behind excuses, and reasons why I look so shitty, and the meetings, ohmygod, the meetings, hearing people talk about you and how great you are and your program is so strong and I want to vomit and I want to scream and I want to runandrunandrunandrun.

And one day when I am healing and reconciling and accepting someone from our meetings comes by and drops a big old bomb about how hos friend, she ran off with this guy blank. ANd I gasp at the pain in my chest. And I cryandcryandcry.

But I don't run. Instead, I ask you and you turn it around. YOU are so so adept at turning things around. HA. And I let you. And I ran away. Three days for Christmas turns into six and then little reasons just not to be around you.

ANd finally I am back around you again and it happens again. Some passing mention of something ou may or may not have done on the one night on five you weren't inside me, and the pain, I let it go, I cry and I let you know.

ANd later, later, when I have tried and tried to not say anything (RESTRAINT OF PEN AND TONGUE!!!!) It's just too much. Really. JUst saying.

And every lie, every hurt, every fact, I throw at you and I cryandIcryandIcry. ANd you acknowledge. That you lied. But how dare I say you take me for granted. HOW DARE I?

So then I apologize for-not my feelings, not my hurt- but for my anger and my delivery. And you run with it and tell me I am selfish.

And I just miss my friend. At the end of it all I just miss my friend. SO we had a social thing and it was ok. And then today we had a program thing and it didn't work out so well and you apologized for putting in that position. And I sat. And I listened. And I agreed with you, I should not have been the one on that 12th step mission. IN no uncertain way.

And you offered me food. And you expressed concern for my sobriety. And you asked me to stay over. No, correction, you said go get your work clothes and come back and i can dig you out. 

And I said no. I want to go home. And you pulled out every soulful fucking trick of the eyes, as I was leaving you actually held me and told me my hair smelled good. And I reminded you it always does.

If only you paid attention.

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