When Wedding Bells Turn into Wedding Blues: Here’s What Went Down Before & After My Plus One Punched The Best Man in The Face

I was the maid-of-honor at my sister’s wedding. I had a beautiful hand-made dress and a round-trip plane ticket to sunny Florida. I even had my own glam squad waiting for me upon my arrival.

And my family. They’d all be there. We were close. Like really close —well, as close as one can be when you were living like I was at the time.

Regardless though, I should have been excited. And I was. It’s just, I had a secret. I had a big secret. And eventually, I became willing to do anything and everything to ensure it stayed that way.

I see now that the type of shit I was hiding was larger than I understood at the time. Part of me was in denial and the other knew I wasn’t OK. I was a full-blown opiate addict after all.

If you remember from a few posts back, my boyfriend, Brad and I were addicted to prescription painkillers. At first, it was simple. One of my friend’s from home happened to sell them. He was a nice guy and a pretty good buddy of mine so he’d through us free pills anytime we’d party together. I remember loving the high. I loved it more than I can put into words; more than I probably should have. And Brad agreed. We couldn’t believe how awesome we felt. Except, it was a false sense of comfort and a dangerous one at that.

Because no matter what’s happening around you or how awful your life is, you will feel extreme euphoria. That’s literally a side effect. It’s like, all you want to do is chain-smoke cigarettes and talk about how much you love anyone and everything —even if you were crying an hour ago. Because that’s what happened to me. Because when you snort these drugs, you’re activating a certain reward pathway in your brain. And normally, you don’t just do it one time. Because they are that good.

Because your brain wants more.

So when you’re constantly stimulating that specific pathway, like how I kept snorting pills long after the party ended, your brain gets hooked. Mine did. And if your brain is hooked than obviously, you are too. Because at that point, these drugs aren’t being used for their intended purpose (like pain management; or in my case, party favors). Instead, they’re about trying to sustain an increasingly perverse payoff from that one specific pathway. Meaning, you’re trying to reach that awesome high you felt when you did your first one.

And after a while, shit that used to bring you joy —like laughing or working out will do nothing for you anymore. The only thing that will do something is taking more of the drug. There’s a reason doctors prescribe these things to cancer patients. Does that make sense? I once read somewhere that even if someone close to you dies and you’ve snorted, smoked or popped one, you probably won’t cry. Because they numb you the fuck out. Because when someone takes a drug like Oxy, it binds to certain opioid receptors in our body’s central nervous system, which diminishes the perception of pain.

It seemed like the answer to all of my problems.

And maybe it was. It’s just, that’s not OK. Nevertheless, several parties later, Brad ends up buying a few extra for us to do at home. In the beginning, we’d only take them if there was something going on. And we’d only snort one or two. It wasn’t until Brad became friends with my friend that we got the idea to start selling pills too. And before we knew it, we were addicted. Truthfully, we didn’t even know what we were getting into before it was too late. We were hellishly sick if we didn’t have them.


And at first, we didn’t understand why. Because that’s the problem with opioids. Most of the time, you don’t realize how bad off you are until you run out of pills.

In the beginning, we were using to get high. But over time, we needed more of the drug to create that initial dopamine flood I described above —an effect known as “tolerance.”

Ride or Die.

As my addiction grew stronger, my tolerance grew with it. Because without our pills, we were below zero. Negative. That’s why addicts experience withdrawal when they go without. So every morning, we’d snort some oxy to maybe get a small buzz but overall the goal was to not feel sick. And because of that and the fact that we refused to run out, we ended up developing a certain fascination for the drug-dealing game. I remember digging this whole Bonnie and Clyde thing we had going on. I felt cool when people called us to get hooked up.

But as fun, as it was being a “trap boo” —we knew the repercussions; jail, institutions or death. It’s just, we weren’t willing to give these things (our pills) up. And if we were going to continue down the path we were on, we knew we couldn’t afford it otherwise. So we knew what we had to do. And after that, it simply took on a life of its own. Because after we took our first pill, it was game on. Over. And we were loosing. But you couldn’t tell us that. Because to everyone else, we weren’t dependant on anything —more like co-dependent on everything (pills and each other).

If you looked really close though, I think you could have figured it out.

Because when my plus one and I make it down there —like to my sister’s wedding, we were a certain kind of sick —opioid withdrawal sick. Then I found my mom’s Klonopin prescription in her maroon medicine bag. And because we were desperate, I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to steal some. Because we couldn’t bring our illicit pills on a plane. Because we didn’t have the guts (at least reason won that round). Because any type of benzo (short for Benzodiazepine) tremendously decreases opioid withdrawal symptoms.

Benzodiazepine is a type of medication used to treat anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, seizures, restless leg syndrome, muscle aches, and alcohol withdrawal. It’s an anxiety-reducing, agitation-helping, hypnotic-sedative that acts rapidly. Common names include Valium, Klonopin (clonazepam), and Xanax (alprazolam). They work by increasing our gamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA) levels. Basically, Klonopin helps the body and brain slow down by reducing the amount of activity —in the part of the brain that controls emotions and rational thought.

With that in mind, we thought we’d be so relaxed, we wouldn’t even think of our withdrawal pain.

So Brad distracts my mom (she liked him so it wasn’t strange for the two of them to chat), as I pretend to use her bathroom (in the hotel we were both staying at); when really, I was boosting her mother fucking pills. Because we were supposed to wean ourselves off a week or so prior. We were supposed to cut back. We thought if we could lessen our dosage of blues (our drug of choice; and another name for Roxicet) by one or two pills each day, we’d be OK. But that never happened.


We kept saying tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll do it. But tomorrow never came. Because when you’re addicted to opioids like we were, you withdrawal when you go without. So in preparation for the big day, we knew what we needed to do.

It’s just, like I said, we didn’t do any of that. When we realized our plan failed, I think we thought we could just wing it. Because we knew TSA wouldn’t approve of our illicit drug use; so we weren’t about to smuggle narcotics across state lines —let alone through airport security. We didn’t want to get arrested. I mean, we had a secret and certain appearances to keep up. Plus, I’ve always had this strange fear of authority. Only you wouldn’t know that. I was really good at pretending.

And my acting skills were about to be tested.

So Brad, my plus one at the wedding and I arrive in Florida. Why did we think we could pull this off? Luckily, our plan to cop my mom’s script worked. After that, we go back to our room in preparation for the rehearsal dinner. And obviously, we snort some right away. The groom’s family, which is way bigger than mine planned a pretty sweet evening for us. They rented out a fancy restaurant in Mizner Park (this beautiful promenade in Boca Raton) for us to gather and celebrate their big day.

Brad, my mom and I make our way over from the hotel. Immediately, we’re greeted by the blushing bride, my sister, Michaela and her wonderful groom, Reid. We walk inside a little more when I spot my aunt and uncle sitting at one of the beautifully decorated tables. We head over there to say hi. We hug and then step left where Reid’s side was to small talk with his supersized family. I love those people —then and now. There were so many of them. I had always wished for cousins; so this was like a dream come true.

For reference, Reid has four siblings —two sisters and two brothers, each with about five or six kids.

I should have known from Brad’s less than eager attitude that he didn’t want to meet and greet with Reid’s family. He said I was leaving him out. I was the maid-of-honor after all, so I had certain things I had to do. And smooshing with the guests was one of them. He knew all of this. I told him in advance that if he couldn’t handle not being number one, then he probably shouldn’t come. He said he didn’t care. He liked to see me in my element because I was always a people’s person. And people loved me.


But he wasn’t as cool with it as he pretended, which pissed me off. I end up going back and forth all night —trying to keep Brad happy, trying to keep the bridal party happy, trying to keep myself happy.

I remember giving him a few extra Klonopin because I knew that would get him to shut up. And it worked. All of a sudden, he was super chill and OK with me not spending the entire dinner attached to his hip like we’d been the past few months. I guess, I understood his frustration. I too got irritable and pretty hostel without my pills. Whether that be a painkiller or benzo, as long as I had some type of something to snort, I was good. It’s just, during the height of our addiction, we were snorting about 900 milligrams of oxy a day.

If you do the math, that was way stronger than the benzos we were on.

That in itself makes it no surprise that we weren’t our best selves. Plus, snorting benzos burns like a mother fucker. But the addict in us knew it would hit harder and faster, which meant, we had to deal with it. Anyway, the dinner party draws to a close as we take some rehearsal family photos and call it a night. The three of us —my mom, Brad and I make our way back to the hotel to get some rest before the big day. I was pretty excited. I mean, my only sister was getting married. How could I not be?

That next morning, my mom said she was going to wake us up, so we could all have breakfast together before heading over to the synagogue where the service and reception would be. Prior to that though, was hair and makeup, which I was most excited about. Thus far, everything was going according to plan. I think Brad woke up on the right side of the bed. Because he seemed to be in better spirits. Spoiler alert: that wouldn’t last. I mean, it had been two whole days without our drug of choice. Yet somehow, it was going better than I originally thought. Those Klonopin saved the fucking day.

After breakfast, we did exactly as my mom said.

We drove over to the temple. The itinerary started with glam. Our hair and makeup peeps were already set up in one of the classrooms. So that’s where we meet up. My sister and her best friend from high school, one of the other bridesmaids were already getting dolled up. Both of them looked beautiful. From there, they did my mom and I as well as the rest of the bridal party. A few hours after that, we were all pretty much done. I remember going into the bridal suite, and helping my sister with her dress. I couldn’t believe it. She was getting married.

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This was a big moment. And that’s when I realized, I was more than excited for her and to be here with her than I first let on. And I was really happy to come to that realization. After that, I run to the room where we just were because my sister and I both left our bags —hers had a change of clothes for later and mine had my cell phone I had been purposely ignoring. Brad was with Reid all morning and the other groomsmen while we got ready. He said he was cool with it because he genuinely liked Reid. And I think Reid liked Brad or at least that’s how it seemed.

Nevertheless, I grab our stuff and head back to the suite. But not before checking my phone. I was pleasantly surprised to hear Brad was having a good time. Except, he said there was this one groomsman he wasn’t too fond of and made sure I knew it. Apparently, that groomsmen, we’ll call him, Derek, one of Reid’s older cousins had been talking about me for most of the morning —like how pretty and nice I was. I think that pissed Brad off. He was the type of guy who wanted me all to himself and if someone else wanted me —well, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

Luckily, by now, the service wasn’t too far away.

So Brad didn’t have time to do anything about it. I tell him we’re family now. He can say whatever he wants about me. I’m yours. That’s what I reply back to Brad when he started complaining. He liked that. So I talk him off the ledge for the umpteenth time as we make our way inside. The service was about to begin. What you need to know is that Reid’s family is Israeli and pretty religious as far tradition goes. While wedding ceremonies vary, common features of a Jewish wedding include a few important variables.

Here are four.

First, there’s the ketubah, which is a marriage contract signed by two witnesses (myself and the best man, one of Reid’s brothers). Next is the chuppah or huppah, which is where the wedding party stands as the bride and groom say their nuptials. For those who aren’t too familiar with Jewising weddings, a chuppah is simply a canopy under which a Jewish couple stands during their wedding ceremony. It consists of a cloth or sheet, sometimes a tallit, stretched or supported over four poles. The chuppah sits on what’s called a bimah, which is an elevated platform used for Torah reading during services.

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On the bimah was, of course, the bride and groom, the rabbi marrying the happy couple as well as the maid-of-honor (me), along with the best man and both of the bride and groom’s parents. The last tradition worth noting is the breaking of the glass. Basically, the groom stomps on some sort of wine glass wrapped in a cloth napkin, which represents the destruction of the Jewish temple in Jerusalem. Couples include this tradition in their wedding ceremony as it symbolizes the absolute finality of the marital covenant.

After the nuptials are officially done, everyone makes their way out of the hall into another room for some hors-d’oeuvres a.k.a. cocktail hour a.k.a. appetizer time. We were all pretty hungry and eager for the party to start. This is where the bride changes into her evening gown for a more relaxed look. This way, my sister could dance without her overflowing service dress getting in the way. And let me say, both looks were absolutely gorgeous. This is also where guests can smoosh, eat drink and be merry.

As maid-of-honor, I had more smooshing to do.

And Brad wasn’t having any of it. This is where things took a turn. I remember handing him a few more pills as we both make our way to our respective bathrooms. We both planned to snort ours in one of the stalls. Talk about awful timing. I recall locking myself in one of those stalls, sitting on the toilet to crush up my pills when I hear my mom’s voice echo throughout. Luckily, she didn’t hear me. She didn’t know I was in there. And I made sure to keep it that way.

She quickly uses the restroom, washes her hands and leaves to join everyone else. I waited to do mine —so once she left, I quietly snort. Relief. But man did it burn. It’s like snorting a menthol cigarette. I hold back the pain as I finish cleaning myself up. I open the stall, wash my hands and exit right behind my mom to smoosh some more. Cocktail hour was nearly done as I see the ballroom doors open. That was our cue to head inside. Most of everyone finds their respective table and sits down in preparation for dinner.

This is when I give the maid-of-honor speech that I had written and prepared well in advance.

I’ve always been a writer so this was my moment.

I remember drafting it months ago. I remember working hard on it. For once, I was going to do what I was told. And I remember being pretty impressed with myself. I had to send it over to my sister for final approval and surprisingly, she loved it too —at least I got something right. I wanted it to be perfect. I needed it to be. And it was. It actually went down better than I anticipated. Not a dry eye in sight. I actually made most of the guests cry —my sister and her husband included. One point for Macey.

My dad gives his father-of-the-bride speech after mine, which went equally as well. We were on a roll. It was an evening worth remembering and I was trying to take it all in. I mean, my only sister had just gotten married. I wanted to have the best time. I wanted to enjoy this night with everyone —including my boyfriend. But he wasn’t as excited as I was, which I didn’t understand. We were all having a great time. But Brad wasn’t nowhere in sight. I think he was pissed yet again that he wasn’t center of attention.

I mean, with this being the actual wedding part, like the party, I had even more people to talk too.

I hadn’t been in Florida where most of these people live in months. And a part of me wanted to talk to them. I liked smooshing. It made me forget that most of everything I was saying wasn’t actually true. I could escape. I got lost in conversation but a good kind of lost. I later find out that my aunt and uncle spot Brad outside —leaning against some brick wall next to the valet guys. He said that’s where he felt most comfortable. Because these people weren’t his kind. What the actual fuck. He wasn’t a hillbilly by any means.


He came from a great family. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t participate in mine. I mean, I always gave his 110 percent.

But he wasn’t willing to do the same for me? That pissed me off even more. Can’t you pretend for an hour? I wasn’t asking for much. I wasn’t asking for anything more than he already knew before accepting my invitation. He too had a role to play but he was stubborn and rude and ignored my needs completely. It was always all about him. He was spiteful too. And you know what he does next? He decides to smoke some freaking pot with those valet guys.

Because I find him a few minutes after that with his eyes as red as the blood boiling inside of me. I asked if he could hang out with me. I miss you, I mutter. I miss you too? Nope. Instead, he tells me that he knows I don’t need him. But I want you, I reply. I don’t need anything but I want to hang out with my boyfriend. I want to share these memories with you. I think that made him feel better, which was kind of annoying. It’s like can’t you be a man and let me have this. But I pick my battles and take him with me to the dance floor.

I thought we could both loosen up a bit. Shake it off, I remember saying.

Brad wasn’t the best dancer by any means. But who cares? Just have fun. And he did but it was short lived. Because that older cousin he didn’t like, comes over to where we all were dancing. Now keep in mind that my dad and sister were in the circle with us. There was no flirtation of any kind going on with anyone. If I was going to flirt like if I wanted too, I wouldn’t do it out in the open for everyone to see. The thing is, I didn’t want to flirt. But Brad didn’t understand that. He thought everyone was out to get him.

I think he sensed that my dad wasn’t too fond of him. The funniest part is, my dad had no idea we were on drugs. He didn’t know Brad was a dealer. All he said was that he didn’t get good vibes from him and that I could do better. My dad was always hard on the guys I brought home so I figured this wasn’t any different. No one is good enough for his little girl so I played both sides as best as I could. I wasn’t about to argue with Brad in front of everyone. I knew had to play it. But he didn’t. He didn’t know how to play it at all.

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Because the next thing I know, shit hits the fan. Brad excuses himself from the dance floor basically as soon as that cousin shows up. He says he wanted to get a drink. So he gets a drink at the bar. Then, he comes back and sees that cousin he hates “grinding up on me” —like what. No. Remember, my dad, sister and now my mom were in the circle. That cousin, Derek wasn’t even near me. But Brad was pretty close-minded. He was stubborn and he was not having any of this.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. This is when he asks Derek if he could talk to him privately. This is when the two of them exit stage right and “talk” in the back corner. Apparently, Brad threatens Derek. Like for him to get his hands off his girl —me. Derek had no idea what he was talking about. We were freaking family now. Derek wasn’t hitting on family. But once again, Brad didn’t understand that. All he saw was red and then he fucking punches him square in the face —knocking Derek to the floor. I actually didn’t find out about this until way later.

But my dad and Reid knew right away.

They saw it happen as they run over to make sure Derek was OK. Brad storms off —probably to get high with one of the valet guys again. And innocent Macey continues dancing with her mom and sister. An hour or so later, my dad pulls me aside. He didn’t mention anything of the altercation just yet. I think he didn’t want to ruin the evening. But he proceeds to say that if someone is going to act like this (like be rude and short and not into it) in front of people, what was this guy capable of behind closed doors?

And you know what? My dad was right, but I couldn’t admit that nor could I tell him that. So I reply back, advising him I understand and then some. “It’s not like I’m going to marry the kid. But give him some credit. He’s in a new place with people he doesn’t know. Can you cut him some slack?” My dad agrees to be nice. With all things considering, he was. The night continues as we dance it away. Brad, of course, stays stuck in his negative thoughts and basically sits at our table the rest of the night by himself. I wasn’t going to let his shitty attitude ruin my good time.

Unfortunately, this is when I find out about the fight.

And that just pissed me off even more than before. When the party officially ends, we make our way back to the hotel, which was right down the street. This is when my dad tells me, which is when I talk to Brad about it. We go back and forth for a few hours in our room. Ultimately though, the night ends on a positive note. I too was the jealous type —so I understood where his head was at. When it’s all said and done, I loved this kid. So I wash my face, brush my hair and get back in bed where he already was.


We end it with a kiss as we get intimate and make-up.

I should add that he was pretty good at twisting things to his advantage and tonight was no different. He was manipulative but I took it as a sign of love. What a freak I was. It’s just, I felt inadequate; so I let him do and say whatever he wanted. He had this weird hold over me. He had a way of making me feel bad —like it was always my fault and sadly enough, it was always like this. Well, not in the beginning but as our addiction grew stronger, so did our co-dependency. Because if it wasn’t Derek, it was always something else.

For the record, we were just as much addicted to each other as we were the drugs themselves. Because the thought of Brad being mad at me drove me crazy. Consequently, I’d always give in. I’d always accept his apology and the cycle continued. Because it was quite literally the end of the world if he was angry. Because he’d always hold those damn drugs over my head. So I’d do anything to bring him back. I thought all of this was healthy? What was I thinking? He was toxic. At the same time though, so was I, which made all of this rather confusing.

And the most confusing part was the drugs themselves.

Because I knew I couldn’t stay high without him. So in a way, I let him do or say anything he wanted. Because I wasn’t willing to sell drugs myself. I knew he was. And I think that’s what kept us together. It hurts to say that because I did love him but when you’re in a codependent relationship, it’s hard to see what’s actually taking place. By definition, co-dependency is an emotional and behavioral condition that affects an individual’s ability to have a healthy, mutually satisfying relationship.

It’s also known as relationship addiction because people with co-dependency often form or maintain relationships that are one-sided, emotionally destructive and/or abusive. Because one person (me) was relying on the other (him) for meeting nearly all of my emotional and self-esteem needs. And the drugs just made everything worse. Even though, at this very moment, we didn’t have our drug of choice to sell or do, we’d be home in no time. We’d be back doing the same things we did before we left —back to selling and doing, which I wouldn’t be able to manage without him.

So if I wanted to keep things up, I had to stroke his ego.

The next day and the last event on our itinerary was brunch.

Unfortunately, that perfectly catered brunch I had been looking forward too was at that same cousin’s house Brad punched in the face the night before. So I wake up and head to the bathroom to start getting ready. And Brad? Well, he sits in bed. I tell him that we’re going to be late if he doesn’t get up. At this point, everyone was already waiting on us —my mom and dad, as well as my aunt and uncle. They were all in the lobby. We were supposed to meet down there at 10:00 this morning. It was 10:05 —and we were officially late.


My dad decides to check on us first. I tell him that we need a few more minutes. He heads back to the lobby to wait some more with everyone else. I’m not even kidding, but an hour goes by and nothing. Meanwhile, I’m ready to go. I was dressed and eager to get the fuck out of this room. Then, my mom comes up. Everyone was getting antsy, which I understood. I tell her that I’m all ready, but Brad is still in bed. He refuses to get up. “What have you guys been doing this whole time?” My mom asks. “This!!!” as I point to Brad.

It was clear he didn’t want to go. I knew he was embarrassed and didn’t want to see the kid he punched in the face along with that kid’s entire family —who he knew hated him. I tell my mom that they can go without us. I felt bad enough. I mean, my family paid for this trip, how could we sit in our hotel room all day with a perfectly catered brunch waiting? I start to get pissed. After all, I had been trying to keep this good girl façade going and Brad was ruining it.

Unfortunately, my mom was about to witness his wrath because he starts yelling at me saying he doesn’t want to go nor does he have to.

“Just go without me,” he says. But then, he says if I do go without him, we’re done. What the actual fuck. I couldn’t win. But I wasn’t going to let him either. From one extreme to the next, my mom chimes in. She is not the yelling type, but she couldn’t believe how stubborn this kid was being. She knew I hated confrontation. She also knew that I truly loved Brad, so she plays the bad guy for me. Thanks, mom. The conversation ultimately ends with Brad staying in the room as my mom and I walk out.

I tell him that if he changes his mind to call me and we’ll come back to get him. I also make sure he understands that we may be a while —so don’t get bored or mad if we take forever. About 20 minutes later, we finally arrive at that brunch —better late than never. Luckily, most everyone else was late too, which made me feel less bad. We eat. We drink. We smoosh some more. And about five hours later, we get in the car to head back to the hotel. That’s when I see Brad sitting in a chair directly next to the main lobby doors.

He was waiting for me.

I thought how sweet; however, the reason he chose to sit there was not because he was trying to be sweet. He was pissed. We were gone for five hours. How could I abandon him like that? Um. I literally told him not to be mad if we took a while. In fact, I urged that. I even texted him a few times during the bunch asking if he changed his mind. My mom said she was willing to drive back anytime to pick him up. But he said no. So I left it at that. He just didn’t think, I’d pick my family over spending time with him.


What the fuck! That was the exact purpose of this trip.

Luckily, my mom, my dad, as well as my aunt and uncle had to head home in preparation for the upcoming work week (saved by the bell). They all booked their flight around the same time since they had similar schedules. So they wish me luck with Brad as we laugh and hug goodbye. But not before I tell them how much fun I had and how much I’ll miss them. “Please have a safe flight and text me when you land.” With that, they grab their luggage and head out the door. The rest of my day consists of another round of back and forth, which literally went on for hours.

Eventually, we make our way outside to smoke a cigarette. I’m even kidding but this is when he threatens to jump off the building —if I didn’t give him attention. What? Yeah. He points to the parking garage and goes on and on about how depressed he is that I don’t love him as much as I was letting on. “If you did, you wouldn’t have left me alone all fucking day.” He wasn’t understanding my side. He didn’t get it. And I was fed up. I think I start crying and decide to give in. A few minutes after that, we officially makeup.

So we snort our last benzo and head for the airport ourselves —at least it was over.

He apologized for being crazy. He said I make him that way and he said those things because he just loves me so much. I took that as a compliment. A few hours after that, we land in Morgantown. Back to reality, back to our drug of choice. And thank GOD. I remember getting out of the taxi and making our way into my apartment. We had stashed our pills in the crown molding of my bedroom wall. We take them out and snort. We snorted three pills in one line. Instant relief. Fuck. Yes. We chill all day.

It felt good to be back. This was fun for me at the time —the most fun. Like hanging out with Brad, chain-smoking cigarettes and snorting more drugs. A little bit later, we re-up with our dealer and everything goes back to normal. Well, as normal as life gets for two drug addicts. The school year goes on and it’s the same shit different day. If you remember from a few posts back, eventually, I have to make a decision. Because as senior year approaches, I knew I was graduating soon. Would I go with Brad to medical school across the country? Or, would I pick my family and relocate to south Florida?

Well, you can read that article to find out. In the meantime, I will tell you this.

Ultimately, we break up. Flash forward eight years. We lose touch. And my heart hurts just a little bit. Because honestly, a part of me thought he was the one. He was my longest relationship at the time and I couldn’t imagine not being with him. But those drugs. They fucked everything up. They got me and nearly destroyed everything I worked hard for. Because even after we broke up, I was still addicted. And Brad? Well, I later learn he actually got his act together and graduated from medical school just like he planned.


I was happy to hear things worked out —at least for him. Meanwhile, I’m still pretending. I was still playing the same game we played all those years ago. Pretending I was happy, pretending I wasn’t addicted. Eventually, though, I do find my happy ending.

But back then, like when I pick my family and Florida over Brad, I end up even more lonely and sad. Because I didn’t have him to keep me company. I didn’t have him to keep me in check. To keep me safe because he always did that. Despite his manipulative ways, he did have my back. And at the time, I didn’t have anyone but my drug addicted self and screwed up brain. Because when I hit rock bottom, I hit it hard. And that’s how I found myself in rehab for the very first time. Because eventually, my family uncovered all of my dirty secrets.

They figured everything out. Because they knew something wasn’t right. So they arranged an intervention, which blew up my entire life. It’s just, that was the hit in the face I needed to bring me back to life. Because I wasn’t ever going to change if shit didn’t hit the fan even more than before. At the end of the day though, I can say without a doubt that things are way better today than they ever were. Because things didn’t get easier, I got stronger, smarter. So I let myself move on to the next chapter.

Because never could I breathe love if I did not first learn to inhale a little bit of chaos. Until next time, guys.


macey bee

*names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved. 






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