My name is Pink, and...

God grant me the serenity...

I'm currently 2 years in recovery from my Cocaine addiction and although we're in the middle of his annual Memorial Day weekend visit to Miami, I'm holding strong to my convictions. Ok, well, its not so much because I'm so strong as it is that Cocaine is a bonafide asshole. In the weeks leading up to his visit, we had spoken on the phone about seeing each other. He seemed to have come a little ways from the unnecessarily cocky abuser that he had been described as in my initial post about my addiction to him. It was almost like the good old days, when I met him 7 years ago and it's possible that I may have relapsed, had our text exchange on his first day in town not put a sour taste in my mouth.

9:59 a.m.

Cocaine: On my way to Florida. What's good?

Me: Totally forgot you were coming today. At work now. When do you get here?

(There was no response until 1:03 p.m.)

Cocaine: Just landed in FLL

Me: Welcome

(He didn't respond again, and I assumed it was because he and his cohorts were getting situated and he would hit me up later. I finished work, got home, went on about my evening and heard nothing else from him until I got--what I hope was an alcohol-induced--text at 11:11 p.m.)

Cocaine: What happened to my BJ?

(I didn't reply to this fuckery immediately, because I was trying to give him time to shoot me a "my bad, I'm fucked up" text. But it never came. So at 11:52, I replied)

Me: You already know that you sealed your fate with how you just came at me. Blow yourself.

Cocaine: Smh. You always find a way to act up. Whatever.

Me: Fuck you. You hit me with a text that you were here. Then texted me about a bj. C'mon man. You don't think you need to come better than that? Doesn't matter anyway. Get bent. I'm sure you'll get your bj. Though it won't be from me. And you'll wish it was. And that makes me smile. Asshole.

Cocaine: Shut up chump! Little crying ass. All you said was welcome.

(I snickered to myself reading this. Did this fool expect me to blow him up all day trying to chase him down and suck his dick. Get the fuck outta here. Joker.)

Me: Not gonna argue with you, G. I'll be that, but you'll still be getting sub-par head this weekend. So who's the chump?

Cocaine: Ok

(yeah. checkmate, bitch.)

...to accept the things I cannot change...

To be honest, I wasn't surprised. Why would things be any different this time? Sure, he read the blog post and perhaps he felt bad...for a minute. But drugs are tricky like that. Just when you think you are being comforted by your dependency, reality comes and kicks the shit out of you. Thank god I got that text message before I took a hit this time.

...courage to change the things I can...

So, though I almost slipped off the wagon again, Cocaine was able to remind me via textversation that a) no matter how kinky I am, there is some modicum of respect that I require-and deserve-from anyone I suck, fuck or otherwise and b) His shit is good, but I'm better.

...and the wisdom to know the difference.

The next day came and went with no apology text. I didn't really expect one, but I was hopeful that this guy who I had known for a while now had a little more respect for me than the text-4-bj interaction. He didn't. Oh well.

I wrote the first blog about him expressing a realization of how little I was actually getting from my exchanges with Cocaine. Though there is something innately sexy about him, the ugly way in which he treats me should be enough to keep me sober.

My name is Pink, and I'm 2 years in recovery. But I will always be an addict.

Can you remember a time when you had to give up someone or something, not only because it was right, but because you would respect yourself a lot more for it?