Looking for the words

I’ve always wondered how we spiritually end up with the lives we have.

How we cross paths — and why.

Why you?
Why me?
Where’s the lesson?

Addiction was in my household too.
Fighting and arguing constantly.
A military PTSD’d out schitzo father who struggled deeply with his addiction.
A mother who stayed and endured the abuse for far too long.

And as children, we learned those behaviors as our “normal.”

We suppressed our feelings so we wouldn’t add to the chaos.
Never fully seen.
Never fully heard.
Never truly loved in the ways we needed.

Occasionally, we were graced with a small sliver of love — and we ran wild with it. Our parents too busy with their own issues.

When there wasn’t enough of that feeling, the love we needed, we self-medicated. Soothing something oddly similar to our parents.

Personally never felt like I was good enough for my parents.

Maybe I’m projecting.
Maybe I’m just speaking for myself.

But maybe you relate?

Love is something everyone needs.
Pure, unconditional love.
And it’s rare.

Like they say — hurt people, hurt people.

You have to love yourself first.
Accept your trauma.
Accept your pain.
Dig your way out of it.
Create a new life.
A life filled with love.

And that’s not to say the struggle itself isn’t beautiful.

Because today, Jordan — seeing you in this state — even this experience was beautiful.

Incredibly sad.
Literally terrifying.
Seeing you with half your skull detached, laying inside of a freezer, waiting for the day it gets stapled back on. That was intense.

I’ve broken a bone or two before — and that pain is brutal. But going through withdrawals… while part of your skull is missing and being numbed with anti psychotic meds? That’s pain I imagine is on a whole different level of insane.

You can’t even cry or process what just happened.

You are the strongest man I know.
And one of the sweetest.

Your poor heart.
Your poor body.

I’m not pitying you.

I just can’t stop thinking about that sweet 8 or 9-year-old boy left outside of an insane asylum. Chaos that early in life is traumatizing — especially when all you want is love, support and to be understood.

And I realize love may not solve everything.

But it lays a warm blanket across your shoulders while you fight the heavy stuff and figure things out.

It can be challenging to dig your way out of a mental battle of a lifetime.

When I saw you in that hospital bed, I only felt love. Everything else faded. I felt something deep in my heart and soul. I knew this would be a turning point for you. I prayed it was rock bottom.

I still pray you’re finished playing games with yourself.

I saw you as a human who had been beaten up by life, yet still smiling. Still pushing. And I related to that so deeply.

I still do.

When I walked into that room and your energy lit up — when you reached for me and pulled me into your chest — that hug felt endless. You held me so tight. And somehow, you rubbed my shoulder through it all… when I was supposed to be the one holding you together. You poured into my cup.

You kept repeating two words to me: I love, I care. And pointed at my chest.

I kept a brave face. It was hard. Listening to your slurred, jumbled words.

There was fear in me — fear that you might not bounce back. But hope, too.

You would get frustrated when you couldn’t say what you meant. Tilt your head back. Eyes welting up.

I pulled out my small pocket mirror so you could see the staples in your head. You were so shocked in awe and disbelief. Asked me if you were ok about twenty times.

I looked at you deeper than ever before.

I saw you.
I really saw you.

Even without clear words, we communicated. You kept reaching for my hand.

At the end, you motioned for me to lay next to you a little more in that hospital bed. The last time I did that was about 8 years ago with my mom battling cancer. I rested my head lightly on your chest, quietly crying so you wouldn’t notice.

Later, I watched them remove a bloody tube from your half-open skull. Then inject something with longest needles I’ve ever seen in my life. Only to stitch your head right back up – fully conscious.

I held your hand while you barely flinched through that process.

We even laughed that day.

But the tenderness in those 3–4 hours will live in my soul forever.

Forever.

You were so excited to see me. Your family saw how tightly you held me. They said it seemed like you didn’t want to let me go.

And when I left… you woke up and shouted a mumbled “Jules.”

A word we all understood.

How can you break my heart like that?

I haven’t cried this hard in years.

This is one of the hardest experiences of my life — not because you were once my boyfriend, but because seeing you like that reminded me how fragile life is.

When I saw you, I saw the world in all it’s flaws.

Then my mind spirals. Why do people go through this? Why is addiction so brutal — not just for the person fighting it, but for everyone who loves them?

I always wish I could fix it. For everyone.

My heart aches for the ones who fight wars inside themselves, by themselves.

There are many who have loved an addict and/or alcoholic. And it’s tough.

We can only hope they win that war. It’s not a war with the substance either, it’s with themselves.

Anyway, later that same day, I went on an abandoned hike to be alone.

I cried. I sobbed. I yelled silently into the sky.

God, why? It’s not fair. Love should heal all. Why put people through this?

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned there are boundaries. And that truth is unbearable. To love someone and have to let go.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
You can’t love someone into choosing the right things.

It’s hard to stand on one side of the battlefield and wonder if they’ll ever walk toward a new life.

When you held me close — almost near death — it reminded me of something I buried deep:

All I ever wanted was emotional closeness. The feeling of just meshing with someone close.

Not the flashy kind of realationship.

The quiet kind.
The kind where the smallest gesture shakes you.

It’s not money.
It’s not grand gestures.

It’s consistency.
Follow-through. Trust.
Presence. Energy.

I know you have a long road ahead. And I’m not waiting around —

but I do wonder,

Would you ever break your cycle? Or would it break you?

That thought destroys me. Knowing there are plenty out there that the world loses to alcohol and addiction.

To your future woman (whoever that might be) or your future family – I hope they get to see the best version of you someday and you keep their trust very sacred.

And know – even though there were many people who came to visit you at the hospital, I know it still might not fill your cup…. but you’re not alone.

I will always scratch my head in pain… why do people destroy themselves when love is right there?

Thank you for reminding me how fragile life is.

You are strong. I knew that early on. And yes, I’ve been strong my whole life too. Though sometimes… I don’t want to have to be.

Yet here we are. Still strong. Still alive. Broken many times. Rising anyway.

I have so much love for you. I don’t judge you. I see you. And I understand you.

I truly do. And letting go is never easy.

So many people battle things in their own crazy ways.

It’s our right to live the best life that we can.
Important to love and show up for ourselves first.
And to then love others properly.
Even through the hard parts.

Love is not how we feel about someone.

It’s how we treat somebody. Please treat those who love you with care.

There’s no formula. And it’s not a linear pattern either.

At the end of the day, I wish healing for everyone.

To heal inside and out. Treat yourself with this in mind:

Everyone deserves peace.
Everyone deserves love.

Your past does not define you.

Only the present will.

We all have our choices to make.

And we’re all simply human.

Life doesn’t have to be this hard.

Your mind can be a beautiful place if you let it.

❤