Rehab - Tumblr Posts

Just when..

I thought things were through, you come back into my life...

I have no idea how this concert was free because it ROCKED HARD. I woke up with my neck sore as frick from headbanging, and that's when you know it's good.

But even more than that, Kevin Young has something to say. His sermons throughout the show were fantastic. People were led to Christ that night through the power of metal. People still think it summons demons, when it drives them out! You just gotta find the right band, and these men have something special. They spoke against suicide, against addiction, against depression. He reminded us that, because we woke up this morning, God still has a plan for our lives. The Christian rock scene is my home and I'd never belong anywhere else quite as well.

A bunch of Jesus loving freaks. Like me.

After the show I got the chance to speak to the band. I was explaining my appreciation to them for being leading forces in the Christian alternative movement and for making it easier to be so different. To be rejected by both rock elitists and the religious. Young interrupted me and just opened his arms. I didn't have to explain. He already knew.

Rockers are family. But Christian rockers?

We are held by a bond of brokenness and eternity: the outstretched arms of Jesus.

(The band saw my "Long Live the Rebels" shirt I painted and posted. They also complimented my look, so my diy and fashion dreams are pretty much complete at this point lol)

In life, I believe we are all just addicts struggling with our drug of choice.

For some, it may be actual drugs. Meth, cocaine, heroine, marijuana... whatever suits them. For others it is alcohol or cigarettes or other tobacco products.

It may be pornography. Or self harm.

I have wrestled with my drug of choice for about four years. Indulging daily or weekly. I'm accustomed to counting wins by the day.

...

Tomorrow, I'm going out with some friends to celebrate two months clean. Eventually I may relapse back into my old habits, but that's not the point. The point is proving to myself that I am able. Recovery is possible.

I WILL NOT BE A SLAVE TO MY DRUG.

And I'll encourage you to adopt the same mantra. These addictions and this society that fuels them? It can't hold us. We are free.

And just so you guys know, it was @purplebehittindifferent who decided she wanted to celebrate my milestone. She's been very helpful with my mental health the short years I've known her. One of my favorite people🖤🖤🖤

In life, I believe we are all just addicts struggling with our drug of choice.

For some, it may be actual drugs. Meth, cocaine, heroine, marijuana... whatever suits them. For others it is alcohol or cigarettes or other tobacco products.

It may be pornography. Or self harm.

I have wrestled with my drug of choice for about four years. Indulging daily or weekly. I'm accustomed to counting wins by the day.

...

Tomorrow, I'm going out with some friends to celebrate two months clean. Eventually I may relapse back into my old habits, but that's not the point. The point is proving to myself that I am able. Recovery is possible.

I WILL NOT BE A SLAVE TO MY DRUG.

And I'll encourage you to adopt the same mantra. These addictions and this society that fuels them? It can't hold us. We are free.

To all the self hating Christians out there with self destructive habits and addictions... like me... I have a proposal.

When you make a mistake. Or remember a past mistake. Or discover you've been making continual mistakes without realizing. Or get stuck in a terrible memory. Or the mirror mocks and distorts you. Or you suddenly feel an overall wave of disgust towards yourself, for whatever reason that may be... instead of not eating or cutting or slamming your head into a wall or otherwise punishing yourself...

Pray. Take a moment to breathe and pray.

I want you to pray for grace.

Because our God's grace is sufficient. His blood was spilled for your imperfections thousands of years ago in anticipation for this very moment of human inadequacy and every other that is sure to come in your lifetime. There is no need to spill your own.

Honor His sacrifice. Thank God for His grace.

the words I want to tell you, but I leave stuck under my tongue or a letter to the man I was supposed to love when I was old.

I blocked your number but I still check my phone for your texts. That’s the thing, this chaos was not created for my benefit. Maybe to escape the pain of leaving, but not to dance with daffodils, no. Not to forget. I could no longer be assaulted with declarations of devotion or drunken regret on scratchy voicemails at 2 AM. But I miss the way your heart knew mine, so deeply.

August is a leach. It has sucked all our blood out of June and July. This is the first month we haven’t spoken. This month holds nothing but memories of us, that haunt me in darkened corners of libraries. That prick my eyes on happy afternoons where I’ve almost lost you.

I don’t know what you’re doing. Or if the fires ever reached our home. Or if you play my old records at night when you cook dinner. But my anxiety says that you’re drinking yourself to death.

And is she right? Have you stopped fighting with the bottle? Have you let it ravish you? Because you are a tortured soul of similar kind to Vincent Van Gogh. Your genius is debilitating. What feeds you leaves you weeping under covers at night.

And you loved me with the power of a thousand suns. You still do to this day. But it didn’t stop you from squeezing my heart in your paint stained hands until it only beat once or twice a minute.

And I went from the leader of your fan club to the victim running down back alleys to escape your crimes. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, your very existence tore me limb from limb. You came into my world like a mass devastation. I loved you like a soldier fighting for my life inside a dirty trench.

But we were beautiful weren’t we? Like fireworks in outer space. Like art on museum walls. Like words scattering novel pages on dusty old book shelves. We were so damn beautiful before you let the tsunami take you. Before I started sewing my heart back up, stitch by stitch, every time you took another sip.

For years we danced. Under saccharine moonlight, with commitment in our eyes and pictures of forest nights and the city lights of our future.

Now I sleep alone. I occupy a one bedroom on the second floor of the mysterious old Victorian at the end of the street.

You stay in our home, riddled with smoke and all the things I left behind. My socks in the dresser. My art on the walls. My words still floating in the air like whispers.

Now, we’re together in being alone. And I don’t know what you’re doing. And my hands have not picked up a paint brush since I finally left you, drunk and stupid, at your fathers house. Since I finally drew a firm line in the sand and stopped you from cracking me open, yet again.

So, what I really mean to say is, hey, how have you been? The weather has been pleasant, don’t you think? Does your heart ache too when you think of us looking up at the moon for the first time? Do your eyes flood when you lay your head on your pillow at night? Does your stomach turn over in your abdomen when you hear my name?

Do you regret every time you put that bottle to your lips when you knew it could trigger my departure?

Was it worth it to you, now that all you’re left with is my ghost?

Love always, Bowie.

Edit: September 23rd.

I no longer quiver at the syllables of your name grouped together leaving someone’s throat. In fact, I slightly cringe. My nose scrunching up and my face contorting into a look of displeasure.

I will not love you always. As I do not love you now. Not anymore. Not after making my escape and looking back on us as a whole and not the ripped up shreds of paper I was trying to piece together when still in your presence.

You took advantage of my kindness, of the light in my heart that always searched for the good in yours. You knew you were killing me, and every time the wounds finally formed over with new skin you’d dig the knife in deeper the next time.

I hope you figure yourself out and stop the aching inside your chest that causes you to bludgeon the ones you love.

But it was never up to me, to keep you in single file, to stop you from drowning your life in cheap liquor. And I don’t know if you ever found the strength…but the freeing thing is, I don’t care.

Ruin your life or don’t, I am not up late at night fighting back tears under the covers. I am not filled with woe wondering if you’re happy or alive or in jail.

I AM dancing with daffodils. I am ravishing through life with a fork and knife, devouring every small piece of happiness I can find.

I am much better off and you are better off alone.

So goodbye. This time permanently. You are no longer a ghost haunting the fissures of my brain. I do not love you. And I often find myself wondering now, if I ever even did.

P.S. I have painted again. You did not take creativity from me. And by the way, thanks for the years of anxiety and fear painted over with words of devotion and silly pet names. That was really fun. Fuck you.

for the rest of my life, cursed with this disease for all those who suffer, we just got to believe believing in yourself is the hardest thing to do so take a look in the mirror and ask," do you see you?" everyday and every night we hurt wishing we were taken care of by a nurse this morning I woke up, fell out of my bed damn it!, wish I had some pills for the pain in my head what ya'll don't know, is what ya'll don't see the disease trying to take control, makes me want to bleed past memories, shooting up all these cravings I don't want to use, I pray, I'm begging. please strengthen me for everyday is a new day but where's my strength, when alls I do is lay. no energy, no effort to be who I want to be the life of an addict, can't you see? this battle has been won the war my friend, will forever go on. so now what are you going to do? hold my head up high, and try not to get the blues! no more smoking powder out of that pipe I'm in the fight for my life. I've come a long way, so u don't got to judge so when standing next to me, don't give me that nudge if u really want to know, I will tell my journal, turned into a book, it might sell my dreams now are back in sight with help through the darkness, is that light shocked and smiling knowing I did survive through this disease, thank god, I am still alive.

A Letter To A Drug Dealer. As you read this letter  I want you to know the devastation  That you have caused to families.  Perhaps you're beyond caring. All you see is the money you have made,  Or perhaps you don't have a Conscience at all. I'm writing this letter to let you know  The misery you inflict to millions of innocent people,  People you don't know,  The unheard cry of agony.  Ordinary families trying to get by  And do the best for their children,  Sons or daughters that you don't care about,  Lives destroyed at your hands.  Kids that you deliberately set out to get hooked on drugs. When you're a parent and have children,  You want the best for them. You want them to grow up to be happy,  Independent, and make their way in the world,  To be honest and hard working.  What you can't protect them from is the outside world,  Monsters like you, Who roam free to destroy lives. You look on helplessly as you watch  The child you brought into the world  Change in front of your eyes,  And all you see is death looking back at you,  And there's nothing you can do.  As you see their personalities change  From a bright, caring and loving person,  A person who has a future  Into something that you just don't recognize anymore. The family is destroyed because a Monster like you  Has gotten another young person hooked on the filth  That you make a profit from.  You silently scream inside as you watch  The child you reared doing things  That you never dreamed possible  In order to pay a Maggot like you so they can sleep.  As families of addicts that you made watch helplessly  As the cycle begins all over again the following day  And you are dragged into a world you didn't know existed  And you pray to God every day  That possibly you will see some change  In your son or daughter's life,  But it never happens because a Maggot like you  Has drawn them in a world of evil. You learn to live in fear  As you watch the child that you brought into the world  Jump as the phone rings and you know that he owes money,  And the cycle of evil continues.  There's nothing you can do.  You're a Monster, and there are many more of you out there,  And you may feel that nothing can touch you,  But trust me, your time will come  Where justice will prevail.  If it's not in this world, it will definitely be in the next,  And there will be no rock for an animal like you to hide.  What comes around goes around,  And for every bit of misery that you have caused  To innocent and vulnerable kids out there,  It will fall back on you a million times over.  I hope when your time comes to leave this earth  That God will forgive you. I, on the other hand, will never!!! Mother of one of the addicts you made.

Judy Pearson - Day 8 #30DaySongChallenge

They tried to make me go to rehab

But I said, "No, no, no"

Amy Winehouse 💜

Exterior Vinyl in Tampa Example of a large classic white one-story vinyl exterior home design

Poolhouse in DC Metro A large transitional indoor stone and rectangular pool house remodel's inspiration

I've wanted to create an Amy Winehouse piece for a very long time, her music/lyrics and style have always inspired me. Recently someone messaged me on my tumblr telling me that they would like to see an illustration of Amy in my style, this compelled me to finally create something.   

"Back To Black" In loving memory, Amy Winehouse tattoo vignette design illustrated by Christian Cimoroni. R.I.P Amy.