A continuation of this —> idea.

I hope you like it! It’s definitely on the more “PG-13″ side of things of stuff I’ve written.

I borrowed 5,000 dollars from Loreli a few months ago. She bought all of the lies I fed her about “turning my life around” and “using it for my education” and hesitantly agreed to wire the money to my account. Now, Loreli is a very smart girl, always has been and always will be, so somewhere deep inside her brain she knew what I was really going to do with it. That was even more confirmed when I showed up on her door step for Easter dinner and she didn’t ask for it back. She knew what I invested in.

I stood on her doorstep, freshly showered, combed hair, and a tie to call my own. I looked like a professional middle class man, but even I knew it was just a front. In fact, everyone in my family was aware who I was when not near them. I was a homeless junkie. I cleaned up nice though.

“Please stay away from my son,” She said, one hand on the door hinge and the other on her hip.

I rolled my eyes, “I know, I know.”

Tall, brunette, and unnerving greyish eyes. That was Loreli. She was terrified I somehow would influence her son to end up like me. Her son, Adorian, was fourteen years old and knew nothing about my front. He thought I was the cool uncle and wanted to talk to me often. Loreli and her husband did not approve of me at all whatsoever. I understood where they were coming from. I didn’t approve of me either.

“And no drugs in the house.”

“Loreli, I know.

“There he is!” I saw my Dad step behind Loreli, smiling at me, “You’re looking good Jack. Loreli, why don’t you let him in, it’s cold out there.”

Loreli sighed and removed herself from the threshold so I could step through.

The dining room was just as I expected it. Fine china and fancy food was arranged around the table, Loreli’s large fire place crackling nearby. Adorian sitting at the table paying no attention to conversation but texting on his phone, Dad’s fucking perfect son, Grant, sitting with his perfect baby girl on one knee and his perfect bleach blonde trophy wife sitting close to him nibbling on a salad. Mom sat next to Grant’s wife, wearing an incredibly ugly Easter sweater. I guess making an Easter sweater was necessary this year, what with it being so damn cold.

“Uncle Jack’s here everyone,” Dad announced. The only one who looked up was Adorian and Mom. I wasn’t surprised, Grant and I hadn’t truly spoken in about five years.

To Loreli’s dismay, I sat down next to Adorian. I could feel her beaty eyes trying to burn holes in my face. Hell, I didn’t care. He didn’t know who I really was and he would never know. It didn’t matter.

“Hey Uncle Jack,” Adorian said holding out a hand for me to shake.

“You look older every time I see you, bud,” I replied. Reluctantly I shook his hand, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

He smiled proudly at me as he shook my hand firmly.

“Nice,” I told him, “You mastered the handshake. That’s progress.”

“Someday I’ll be just like you, Uncle Jack. Mom says it’s not likely, but if you don’t have your disease anymore, why can’t I?”

“Exactly,” I said to him and I heard Loreli sigh, “Never give up.”

Loreli was right, Boudon’s Disease was likely permanent, but I couldn’t tell him that. He was pleased that he was even able to shake my hand. I knew what it was like to be him. I knew what it was like to struggle to hold a pencil and to have to sit out in every gym class. It sucked.

I could already hear Loreli yelling at me through her thoughts. I heard her yell at me at a million family functions just for instilling hope in her son. Just because you were miraculously rid of it doesn’t mean he will be cured. You know what he wants to be now Jack? An artist. Look at what you’re doing to him. You’re filling his head with dreams. What if he has Boudon’s for the rest of his life, Jack? What then? You think you’re his hero or something?! Newsflash! You’re a drug addict, Jack. You’re a low life loser. Stay away from my son. I told you to stay away from my son. Adorian dropped a glass on the floor yesterday and it shattered. Is that progress? He’s still using an aid to write things down for him at school, is that progress? Don’t you dare get near my son.

Again, I understood where she was coming from probably more than she did. But even so, going through life without a shred of hope would be pretty meaningless.

Dinner was as awkward as I expected. Grant talked about training the rookies in his new company for an ungodly amount of time. I didn’t have enough eye rolls in me to express how I felt. Mom and Dad showered Loreli and Grant with praise. Grant’s wife, Emma, told us about how she’d been learning to cook in her spare time. I was a little surprised she knew enough words to make a sentence. And then everyone questioned the hell out of Adorian, wondering how he was doing in school. It was a typical family function, everyone dressed up pretentiously with an underlying tone of disappointment towards the biggest failure in the family, me.

“Why don’t you play piano for us?” Mom suggested kindly to me while she was helping Loreli clean up dinner.

I didn’t feel like playing then. My whole body felt weird. It’d been nearly twenty four hours since I’d had my last hit. The nausea and sickness was setting in; I felt sweaty and light headed. I really didn’t give a shit about playing piano that day. I just wanted to get in, get out, and go shoot up some heroine. Surprisingly enough I felt more comfortable on the streets than I ever did at Loreli’s house.

“Nah,” I said, “I was actually thinking about heading out. I’ve got a lot of paper work to catch up on.”

“Oh dear god,” I heard Loreli scowl in the kitchen.

I let a smile escape. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I liked making her piss angry every time I saw her.

“Just one song?” Mom asked, “Or even just that one part in ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ everyone loves so much.”

I heaved, I knew if I didn’t do it she would beg in a million different ways until I gave in. I sat down at the piano located at the edge of the dining room. It was nothing like the piano I had as a kid. It was small and out of tune just slightly enough to drive me unofficially insane.

And just like that, as soon as my hands touched the keys, I was numb. My mind, body, and soul were completely trapped within notes that danced through my brain so gracefully. Nothing made me feel the way that did. I’d almost forgotten how playing piano made me feel. It was a high, similar to heroine, but yet so different.

Heroine.

My hands fumbled and I accidentally went for an f sharp rather than the natural. I felt my skin getting hotter. I needed my heroine.

“Jack is everything okay?” Mom ran over to me and put her arms around me from behind. I never messed up on piano, especially ‘Rhapsody in Blue’.

Her touch only amplified my want more. I swatted her away.

“I told you I have to go.”

“He has to go do cocaine or whatever the hell he’s addicted to.”

Loreli was standing in the doorway, eyes cocked like guns ready to kill me. Adorian must’ve been out of ear reach because she’d never been so forward with me.

“Excuse me?” I barked. She had no idea what she was talking about.

“You think we all hate you, Jack, but we don’t. You’re the reason I can’t sleep at night sometimes. I think about all of your talent and how you threw that all away because—I don’t even know why. It makes me so sad.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Let me be clear. I do not pity you. I am so sad that you are wasting your life as a piece of shit when you were amazing.”

Mom butt in, “Loreli, please don”—

“Get out of my house, Jack. Now.”

She’d rather have me on the streets than at her house. I didn’t care, Heroine was calling my name. In the cold of the night, Heroine whispered to me in the shadows. Then I’d feel so relaxed and good. Heroine closed my eyes to all the shit that happened to me. Suddenly life was bareable. I didn’t have to remember the ringing of gunshots from years ago that changed my life. I didn’t have to remember the day when Grant graduated from college. I didn’t have to remember memories of warm Christmas Eves, playing on my piano while the smell of gingerbread cookies dwindled through the air. All of my memories melted away to the sound of a quiet g flat. There were times when I considered over dosing, wondering if death would be like an endless high. But what if it wasn’t?

Most of all Heroine helped me forget the one thing I could never forget.

Her.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Five years ago.

It was nothing like in books or movies. There was no triumphant moment where I stood up and yelled “I object!” and she would run to kiss me while dramatic music enraptured the whole situation. She didn’t look confused or drop everything during the wedding and run into my arms.

She got married.

She looked into his eyes and said her vows. She was happy.

I knew I wouldn’t ever try to destroy that.

It’s weird to watch the woman you love marry someone else. It’s almost like being in a dream, where it feels like your actions are irrelevant. But it wasn’t a dream.

Tessa never looked so beautiful. She was a song so unique I couldn’t play it. The whites of her wedding dress against her olive skin brought about the brightest light in her face. She drew people’s eyes like magnets. She kissed him and was happy.

Life’s a bitch.

Grant and I definitely took advantage of the open bar at the reception. Grant was usually my wingman, the bro that said, “Hey man, slow down”, when I’d had a few shots. But that night, he didn’t care. He knew I was in pain.

I wish he would’ve stopped me.

I drank until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore and the world was a blur of colors and people that were talking way too fast. I could faintly hear “Just the way you are” playing as I sat at the bar trying not to fall off the stool.

I didn’t remember asking Tessa to dance with me, but apparently I did. She was instantly offended by me, but walked me to the dance floor anyway.

“Jack, you’re drunk,” She said annoyed, “At my wedding. Don’t you think that’s rude?”

I specifically remember watching the pearls that hung loosely around her neck slide back and forth across her. Her lips were ruby red. I kissed those lips once.

“Whatevermakkeesss the pain go away.”

I don’t remember anything after that. The next thing I knew I was in the emergency room while doctors were having a look at my nose. Tessa punched me in the face and broke it.

After they told me what happened I couldn’t stop laughing. Her spunky spirit, the smell of her hair, the way she pursed her lips when she was making a decision, and how her butt looked when she wore her favorite pair of jeans. Those were the things I loved most.

“What did I say to her?” I asked Grant.

He shrugged, “I dunno. She told you she never wanted to talk to you again.”

“What?”

“She messed you up pretty good, Jack.”

I smirked, “I can’t really feel anything because of the meds”—

He put a hand on my shoulder, “No man, I mean she messed you up. I’ve never seen you drunk before. Buzzed, yes, but not that bad.”

The dream world and reality began to blend together.

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I never talked to Tessa Bloomwood—Excuse me, Tessa Jeridson, ever again.

Life’s a bitch.

Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache. You are the one who sits with the cold body on the shower floor, and picks it up. You are the one who feeds it, who clothes it, who tucks it into bed, and you should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself when everyone around you is trying to bleed you dry, that is the strongest thing in the universe.

Blowing out the candles/pretending I’m in to football.

The past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind. I just started a new job at this local family owned pub. It’s been a dream come true. My first day of work with them was a created event on facebook (Such kind folks) and they were all so welcoming to me! Working there has been a blast thus far.

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I started working there on my birthday and they threw a little party. Also, my cupcake was chocolate with pillows of butter cream, dipped in chocolate gaunche. Doesn’t that look delicious?

Today was my first double shift at the pub. It was really fun. For lunch I had the “Loaded Pub Chips” and since they knew it was my order, the kitchen literally loaded the chips.

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Needless to say, it was delicious. All the food there is good. I’m glad they loaded it up because now I have lunch for tomorrow too!

When things got boring and ‘dead’, my manager and I were messing around and drawing up at the host stand. I am not artistic whatsoever. We couldn’t stop laughing at my portrayal of her:

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Yes. Thanks to my awesome abilities she looks like she’s wearing “genie pants”.

The pub is really into sports, specifically football and soccer. Today we were supposed to support our favorite teams. I honestly don’t pay attention to sports at all, especially the NFL. The only games that are allowed to be watched in my house are the Notre Dame ones (;P)

I went Detroit lions today. I don’t even know if they’re good!

I hope you all have a great week!

Goals for September/October

Sign up and register for my first half marathon. I actually was registered for the local half marathon a few years ago, but broke my wrist and the doctor didn’t give me clearance to run. I found another half marathon for April of this year that I have my eye on. I think it would be a great thing to work toward and an awesome hobby to get back with. Running will be a great way to vent mad energy.

See a Broadway show. One of my sisters and I just talked about this yesterday so I decided to add it to the list. We’re going to pick a weekend and make a road trip!

Buy a new pair of running shoes. I’ve needed some for a while. I thought that if I was really going to do this half marathon, I need to get some awesome shoes to train in. Actually right after I made this goal I went and got a pair. Going to more personalized and family owned shops is always best–The salesman really took the time to get a sense of my running style and what shoes would work best for me. I am really excited to start running in these.

Cook at least 10 new recipes.  Sometimes I have time to cook, sometimes I don’t. I figured that getting back in the kitchen and really enjoying the creation of food will be a great way to improve the relationship with food that I have

The professionals I’ve been working with lately have talked about the importance of habits and creating good ones while nixing the bad ones. So blessed to have people helping me on this journey and reminding me that life is an adventure–An eating disorder is such a waste of time for someone like me who has the potential (as someone described me lately) to shine brighter than a “frickin’ Christmas tree”.

Here’s to the future and the great things to come!

Many blessings,

Mahoney

Finding yourself.

I recently went through a very difficult break-up. This week has been really taxing and I’ve definitely been in one of those “eat ice cream-watch all Sandra Bullock movies-contemplate life-dye my hair” kind of moods (if that makes any sense). I think it’s something we all go through, especially if you’ve been with someone for an extended period of time, suddenly we have an identity crisis. I personally felt the need to reinvent myself.

I mean, no wonder we feel like we go a little crazy during this time. Society tells us we need validation in order to be happy. So when that person has stepped out of the picture and the void is deep and real we think let’s go to Europe or I’m going to go on a shopping spree.

But really, most things are just a temporary fix for a lifelong problem. I don’t know about you but I am not wasting my life continuously finding something to fill a hole in my chest and then when that one thing is done going insane while searching for another.

I’m not proud of a lot of things in my life. I’m not proud that I do my best to be a role model for my sister and the children I work with but in secret I struggle a lot. I’m not proud that I’ve failed to detox the negative things out of my life. I’m not proud that I can put up a front but truly be a weakling. To me it feels like if something isn’t the focus of my life I search for something that can be. I search for something to define me as a person. Nothing fills that longing to know who I am, nothing at all.

When I was 13 years old, I sat next to the same girl on the bus every single morning. One morning when I got on the bus, without even thinking or looking, I sat next to her. Turns out her science project was sitting on the seat next to her and I had clumsily sat on it and ruined it. I felt terrible. I didn’t even think to look for something next to her because of all of the other mornings. Nonetheless, no matter how many times I apologized she was furious with me. Her teacher even gave her an extension on the project and still she was so angry with me. Whenever she told the story of what happened she referred to me as “that fat girl”.

Now, I was five feet tall and barely 100 pounds. I actually didn’t believe her at first. Soon her mean regards towards me escalated further and not only did she call me ‘fat’ instead of my first name but she called me boring, stupid, and ugly. After a while of constantly hearing all of these insults I began to believe her. At 13 years old I was convinced I needed to go on a diet. And thus began my lifelong struggle.

7 years. 

Seven.

I used to get feverishly blood boiling angry to think that that girl was the reason I’d struggle with an eating disorder for the next seven years. I haven’t seen her in forever. I don’t get angry anymore. I didn’t get to choose that it happened to me, I do get to choose what I do from here.

The point is, that defined me for such a long time. For years I told myself I was my eating disorder. Whenever I decide I’m done with that I struggle to find something to fill the void. My boyfriend of 3 years and I break up? I need to find something to fill that big empty spot. Eliminating friends from life that only bring me down? Gotta find something to distract.

It really got me thinking. I am the only thing stopping myself. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, I’m currently reading The Truest Thing About You . David Lomas’s approach to identity and finding yourself is far different. Instead of reinvention, he says we need to run. 

Run to Christ as fast as we can and then and only then will we find who we are really meant to be. For some people, that’s scary. For others, it’s infuriating. I know it was for me.

I remember when I was in the deep of things, at fourteen mind you, and I did not want to live anymore. I suffered from anxiety/OCD issues and my eating disorder was engulfing me. When I asked for help my parents would usually say, “Turn to Jesus”, and I would roll my eyes. I actually did everything but turn to Him. I avoided Jesus at all costs. I wanted nothing to do with Him. Tried to fix myself, sought professional help, dated lots of guys, joined a bunch of clubs, threw myself into school work, ran until I couldn’t feel my legs–the list is endless. Most will do everything to not turn to Him.

He’s not instant. I honestly believe that’s why I didn’t want Him. For starters, He’d let this awful thing happen to me. And secondly, the gratification never happened instantly. Watching T.V. or eating something was gratification at the snap of a finger.

Jesus wasn’t made to be put in a microwave for 30 seconds and then everything is ready and better. If you ask for something, He’ll heal you, but in His time and in His way. Often times He wants you stronger before the healing. Sometimes things must get worse before they get better.

We don’t want that.

But I have to cling to Him if I want to live. I’ve been running for a long time. I’ve been running away for seven years, the prodigal son. It’s time I came home.

I can almost hear Him in my heart.

Aren’t you tired of running?

Maybe it’s time you came home too.

Because He is the only thing that can save us. We cannot save ourselves.

The best thing about Him is that I don’t have to be afraid anymore. When I come home, He’ll be there waiting with open arms, preparing a banquet and party upon my return.

It’s time.

The run back to Him will be long and hard since I’ve been seven years away. There were times when I returned to Him but kept all my earthly baggage with me. The only way is to let it all go.

“Radical obedience to Christ is not easy… It’s not comfort, not health, not wealth, and not prosperity in this world. Radical obedience to Christ risks losing all these things. But in the end, such risk finds its reward in Christ. And he is more than enough for us.”
David Platt

Why?

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Do you ever stop to think why we do what we do? As I opened my closet this morning to put on something, my hands went through dozens and dozens of the bright colored fabrics, jeans, skirts, and shirts. I realized I had so many clothes but none of them were very comfortable. 

Sure, I might look cute, but I’d be uncomfortable. My Mom used to say how silly she thought it was when women wore open flats in the winter or dressed uncomfortably for the sake of looking culturally beautiful. Mom was right (Moms always are, right?). I remember one day when Mom and I went to church and we ran into this lady who was dressed up gorgeously but she looked very cold.

“Beauty is pain!” She said to us and began to laugh.

Meh.

Today, I decided that instead of spending twenty whole minutes trying to find an outfit to impress people I don’t even know (All while telling myself in the back of my head that I’m doing this for myself) I’m going to pick out something that is comfortable.

Jeans, t-shirt, vans? Yes please.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. Beauty isn’t about wearing what’s popular, especially if it’s uncomfortable. Beauty is about being yourself, being kind, and showing off that smile that is such a unique gift to your body.

Beauty is knowing your body houses your soul–That’s beauty enough.

I think it’s definitely time I cleaned out my closet. Perhaps someone less fortunate than I can enjoy my clothes better than I will.

Here’s to change, learning, and growing. *ClinkingGlasses*

My first day as an amateur teacher.

This was my first morning as a Sunday school teacher at my local church. I’m a junior in college and went into this thinking, “I’ve been learning about how to be a teacher for a little while now, I got this”. Really, you don’t know anything until you either observe or you do it and make the mistakes yourself. It’s hard to keep their attention when they don’t want to be there. Those ‘tweens’ are the hardest group to capture.

However, I will do better next time. I’m determined! I’m going to do more research and really get them involved and thinking.

Any teachers (or otherwise) have some advice?