Page 38 of Speechless
“There’s no way you can know what’s right at eighteen. You don’t even know yourself yet. You’re supposed to make mistakes, so you can learn from them, and we both did.”
“Me more than you.”
“You don’t know how messed up I got.” I shuddered, thinking back to how much I’d hurt my mama and worried my little sister. Not to mention my friends. “An addict is an addict, whether it’s alcohol or drugs or some other addiction. It messes with your mind. Changes you. Makes you hate the person you’ve become.”
“Yeah, it does.” He linked his hand through mine, extending my wrist as he stared at the stacked mala beads I always wore. “What are these?”
“Mala beads.”
He frowned. “Some significance?”
“I use them during meditation.” I wasn’t used to talking about my spiritual path, since many people found my practices a little woo woo, but Mav couldn’t understand the woman I’d become without understanding that part of me.
“You meditate?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“And do yoga.” I smiled at his look of confusion. “It helps me stay grounded and more mindful. It helps in my recovery and as an artist. In my line of work, you can’t afford to get distracted or let your mind wander. You have to be present, giving all of your attention to that person, that moment, and the art you’re creating for them.”
“I guess so.” He held both my hands, bringing them to his lips. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“No, I’m not. I’m flawed, just like you are. Just like we all are.” It was important he not put me on a pedestal because I knew if he did it would be a hard fall when he eventually realized I wasn’t the perfect woman he’d believed me to be.
“You’re perfect for me,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss me.
I enjoyed the kiss, trying not to over-think what it meant or where this was going. “Perfection is an illusion, Mav.” It was important that he really see me, with all my flaws, before he believed me to be someone I wasn’t. “I don’t strive for perfection anymore. I just stay in my own lane and focus on becoming the best version of myself that I can be.”
“I like that.” He rubbed his thumb over the beads on my wrist, “Do you still go to meetings all the time?”
“Not every day, but when I feel I need to. Sometimes that’s once a week or maybe a couple of times a month. In the beginning, daily meetings are essential.”
“Yeah, I can see how they would be.” He blew out a breath. “Does it ever get easier? Do you ever fall asleep or wake up without it being your first thought?”
“It does get easier.” I squeezed his hands. “But I can’t say how long it will take before it starts to get easier for you. It’s different for everyone. Just remember, you’ve been an alcoholic more than half your life. Shedding that part of your identity is going to take time and patience and it’s going to be hard. Really hard.”
He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m so scared, Codie. I don’t want to go back. I like this guy, the one who doesn’t drink, so much better than the one who does. But the urge is still so strong. Especially when I come to places like this or restaurants, or even performing at my own shows, where most people are drinking. It’s like I can’t escape it.”
I appreciated his willingness to be vulnerable with me. I knew how hard it was in the beginning, when you felt like you were walking a tight-rope and the slightest mis-step could cause you to freefall back into the hell you were trying to escape.
“You can’t escape it.” My tone was soft, gentle. I wanted him to know I understood, and would never judge him for feeling weak sometimes. For alcoholics like us, weakness went with the territory because we would carry that penchant with us the rest of our lives, every day making the sometimes-gut-wrenching choice not to have a drink that day.
“It’s always with you, Mav. Always a part of who you are. The darker part. And that’s okay. We all have our shadows.”
“I’m so glad you’re back in my life. You give me so much strength. I want to beat this thing for you, for me, for us.”
“You have to do it for you.” I could never allow anyone to build their sobriety on a foundation as weak as me. My love. My approval or acceptance. It had to be built on the rock-solid foundation of their own self-love and self-acceptance. Because that was the only thing anyone could ever count on.
“What if I want to do it for you? To make up for the mess I made of things last time?”
“It can’t work.”
I knew I would eventually have to tell him that his sobriety had to come first. Before his relationship with me or his career. His physical and mental health were riding on it and nothing could take priority over that.
“I guess we should get back inside. I don’t think I can stay long though. I know Trey will understand.”
“Of course, he will.” I tugged on his hand before he could reach for the door. “Everyone understands this is a tough time for you. So just do the best you can. You don’t have to make excuses or apologies for needing time to regroup, ok?”
He leaned in to kiss my cheek, whispering, “Thanks,” in my ear.
As soon as we got inside, we were greeted by two country music icons, Ty McCall and Tori Warner. “Man, great show tonight,” Ty said, shaking Mav’s hand before Tori gave him a hug.
