A Turbulent Week

My room mate’s house is a gilded cage that is filled with chaos and disharmony.  I know why, now.  I don’t want to say much, as I respect her privacy, but I will say I was livid at what one of her parents said to her.  I witnessed the events, and later heard her masculine baritone cracking as she wiped tears away, telling me what happened.

We have worked out a plan to get her out of this house and somewhere more secure.  This means my time helping her directly will come to a close in the next three months, but I will always be a phone call away.

She has enough contacts in town who are unrelated to what is going on — she will be able to use those contacts to secure a place to stay while she gets back on her feet and stabilizes.  I cannot encourage her to stay here without feeling sadistic.

She has a meeting, tonight, and I have a grief group, and we’re going to meet up afterward and watch a movie.

What really kills me on the inside is when I left for a quick trip to the store (she let me use her car), I had a feeling she was wanting me to leave her alone, and when I came back, she was drunker than ever.  I counted 3 40 oz beer bottles in the floor.  She didn’t know up from down but she was sure having a cry with the music going.

She was also doing laundry (finished 4 loads in 2 hours), cleaned the kitchen, and also finished the mess in the living room on her own.  She took the trash out, cleaned up her bedroom, and cleaned both bathrooms.

And she was drunk and crying.  I helped her get to bed and she cried about how she picked up a 2 year chip the night before.  So tonight, she’s getting a new chip.  But I have the car, and she will be around friends she can trust.

I wish I could be there for her all the time, but I can’t.  I’m just a soldier, I am human.  We grieved the loss of clean time, and I encouraged her to move on.

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