My story

This is my account of those minutes in the ICUIt’s hard to breathe. I literally feel like someone has put their hand through my breast plate and grabbed my heart began squeezing it and then ripped it right out of my body. Anguish and despair are racking my body with convulsions. My teeth are chattering uncontrollably, as I switch from bone deep chills to sweltering hot flashes in 30 second unrelenting intervals. The emotional grief is being felt physically it is that deep. 

When he died, I did too. I didn’t know this for years. The brain is a very tricky and selfish thing, it will do anything for self preservation. Through treatment I learned that while my physical self didn’t die, my being, my soul jumped into the grave with him. Where I could be safe and complete and happy again, and I took most of the good parts of Krysten to his crypt and left the broken, angry, self destructive, selfish and traumatized pieces in my physical body and just shut it out. I kind of just decided that this thing kind of happened to me, but not really cuz that girls long gone, and I don’t remember any of it really it’s a blur and what I do remember let’s bury under a sea full of Captain Morgan’s and Mt. Everest size bag of cocaine. Continue down the Drug Alphabet and collecting one substance from each letter and mixing it all together and let it simmer for 16 years until it boils over and you’ll get the walking Corpse I was the day I entered rehab.


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