I could write about Chris, my boyfriend of two years. I could write about how much it hurt seeing him lay there unmoving. I could write about how his ice cold hands sent a chill down my spine as I said my last good-bye. It was so hard, and still is hard to know I will never touch him or see his brown eyes again.
I’d rather write about how many people have given up drugs and violence because of Chris’s fatal overdose. Chris may be gone, but he will lives on through the affect he had on so many lives. He will lives on through his beautiful son who will never know how great his father was.
I could write about my father, the alcoholic, and who’s lost everything because of his addiction. I could write about how even when we have no heat, or running water, or electricity, we always have beer in the fridge. I could write about how my dad continues to drink though alcohol will soon take his life.
I’d rather write about my father, the great dad. The man who gives up so much to give his children a better life than he had; the man who works seven days a week, every week, no matter how sick his disease makes him. I’ve only known my dad a few years, and I’ll only know him for a few more, but I’m so thankful for every minute with him. He’s been there for me through my toughest times and has shown me more love, strength, and hope than I’ll ever need.
I could write about my own addiction. I could write about how I’m a recovered addict and how hard it still is to stay clean. I hit rock bottom hard before I finally accepted help. I could write about how a drug made me lie to, steal from, and hurt anyone and everyone who cared about me.
I’d rather write about how losing everything put my life back on the right track. From this weakness I’ve found strength to better myself and my life. My addiction caused so much damage in my life, but it also made me see that I was taking so much for granted. I now know the importance of family, and I’m so thankful for mine now. I have hopes and dreams and goals again. I have a future that looks bright. I’ve been clean for almost a year now, thanks to people who had faith in me when I had no faith at all. Now I work hard for everything I have, and I know how lucky I really am.
My grandpa once said to me, “Sometimes I hate life, but I sure love living.” I believe that life is worth living. My life is what I make it. Sometimes I’ll go through tough times, but I know that from every heart ache, there’s something to be learned. From every tear, I grow a little. From every loss, I gain more appreciation for what I have. Why should I be angry about the past, when I’m happy with how it’s shaped the present?
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