Screenshot of a Lifetime

This is the last time I talked to you. I am glad you answered the phone for me, but on the flip side, you sounded really sick. It wasn't unusual for our phone calls to be short, sweet, to the point. I didn't think much of it when I hit end call- no one ever does. Now I wish I would have kept you on the phone, now I wish I could still be on the phone with you, til my arm falls off of my body. I wish I would have kept your voice on the line til I reached you, til I could have seen you in person and maybe stop what it is you did. I can't even promise I would have been able to change your mind. That hurts worse. Maybe you still would have done it even if I had seen you that night. Maybe you wouldn't have. Now I'll never know.

I miss you more every day, dad. It hurts worse every day. I carry on for you, for the family, for Liz. I put on a brave face most days, but I just wanna be held by you and be called your little girl again.

An Ode to a Mechanic

If I could take away my entire familys' pain, I would put every pound per square inch of their hurt in my body. I would replenish them with what little fuel I have left myself. I would cool them down when things get overheated. I would air them up when they felt deflated. I would change out their blown fuses. I would be their windshield wipers, only to let them see ahead of themselves right now, to show that there is a street somewhere in front of them, somewhere hidden in all that rain. I would take the steering wheel and drive that street until the sun shines again for them.

But it feels like it is just a bad nightmare that my passenger, my family, our friends, everyone he knew, is having. I wanna scream, "WAKE UP!", and when they do, it becomes our reality. Now it feels like I can not drive far away or fast enough or both to escape what is now the actual. It is my nightmare reality.

So we pull over.

I hold them- they weep- I hold them and tell them that he is still here; I tell them that he is still here as long as we never let him go.

It still makes my heart race to think about how you are gone. It makes me light headed, dizzy, anxious, nervous. I want to believe you are not actually gone, but that I can call you at the shop and you'll answer.

I saw you Saturday. You looked like you were sleeping. I kept waiting for you chest to move or your eyes to open. They never did. But I could feel you with me there. I felt you Thursday as it poured raining harder and harder as we made our way to the shop. I feel you now.

It was your home. And you are my home. I will never let anyone forget how much I love them and care for them. Sometimes I feel like I failed you, when I know in reality I didn't,  but you always feel like you can do more.

A Letter to Roxy

I understand there are things you do to my girlfriend that I can not. I understand that you make her feel things I can not begin to recreate. I understand that chemically you are addiction at its core. I realize now that after all is said and done, you will win.

What kills me is the fact I can not stand up to you to tell you to not be crushed up into some pretty blue powder and whisked away in a nostril. I can not yell at you to not create some euphoric state that she cannot deny.

In the same breath, I can not ask her to stop seeing you. She is an adult. She understands the risks. I can only hope she will chose me one day.

A Letter to your Drug Dealer

Sometimes it's the haunting feeling that she likes to see your phone number pop up on her telephone screen more than mine. It's the look she gives you when you two meet. Or sometimes it's how she talks about you, like you aren't even worthy of lower lifes like us. It is way she looks when she sees that little blue pill, like it isn't even of this world. And it is that way because of you. And it will always be that way because of her.

I take out my frustration on you, I treat you like shit, I'll admit it. I don't want to make eye contact with you or sit on your furniture or eat at the same table with you or even help you when you want some extra help.

You have become the scapegoat when really it is her. It is her that we are this way and it is her that we still struggle.

Yet when you fail to provide or we don't have the money or maybe she's already spent $150 on pills this week, the scapegoat spotlight shines brightly on me. I am the reason you don't have anything- we should have met you yesterday, we don't have the money because I spend too much of it.

It is never going to get better until it stops. I'm never going to get better until she stops.

It is a well oiled machine and I am just a man.

Policies to Live Life By

by Steph Caffey

Policy #1: Be honest always. No matter what happens, who it's to, or where you are, always be honest.
Policy #2: Use protection always. No matter what happens, who it's with, or where you are, ALWAYS USE PROTECTION.
Policy #3: Age ain't nothin' but a number. And remember that. People can and will surprise you.
Policy #4: