Sunday, October 19, 2008

"When life ends..."

My grandpa died last night. He was in his 90's and ready to go. He didn't know us anymore and hadn't for a very long time, but what a beautiful soul- a gentle, kind spirit that lived a life that was, to me, perfect. He never raised his voice, used profanity, broke the law, nothing that would taint him or his family. My grandpa was full of love and discipline and did the right thing for himself and his family everyday of his life- a very simple life that allowed us to love him uncoditionally- always. This gentle soul is now with my grandma in a very special place and we, his family and friends go on, because that is what we do after a loved one dies. Whether we want to or not, we must go on. But we are better people because of the people we love and that love us. And anyone that knew my grandpa would agree. I am a better person because he was my grandpa.

This was not always the case though. I came from a home with morals and values as well as church every Sunday- which meant we were judged by this higher power I choose to call God. But when I was young God was feared and not a loving God- but an entity to be afraid of. So you didn't make mistakes and when you did you were to repent, and then try to move on and learn from your mistakes. But if you didn't repent, then you lived with the grief of what you had done and this was crippling to me, still is.

That guilt thing is killing me and has been for a very long time, and I have let this happen- I had no way to stop it, I did not have the tools. So after many mistakes in my teens I continued to allow these feelings of guilt to guide my way of thinking and living- which translates to, self-hatred, and absolutely no self-worth. With these emotions always swimming inside of me I began to own them and by doing this I continue to make life changing mistakes, by doing drugs, drinking, sleeping with many men and sinking into a life that left me with a hole that I was trying to fill with anything I could get my hands on, but a hole that grew with each passing day.

When I was 27 I found myself entertaining and eventually living with a drug dealer. He got me hooked on cocaine and I spent all my extra money on this drug to stay sane- my definition of sane

1 comment:

Lou said...

Beth, I can see you have a hard story to tell. But you are not alone. Go around the blogs. Many have fought & are fighting addiction. Or in my case, the addiction of my son.
I hope your writing can help you, the way my blog has helped heal me.
So sorry to hear about your grandfather. You paid him the highest compliment-that you are better for having known him.