On one hand I'm SO mother-f-ing proud of myself. Tomorrow, later on today, I take my last opiate dose in over six years. I've been on opioid pain killers ever since my fibromyalgia diagnosis all those years ago. And I've done it alone. Though it sucks to say, I've had no real support through this process and that disturbs me. People don't do this easily. And it has hurt. The medical marijuana is the only glue keeping me together in this.

But why do I still carry a torch for my ex? It hurts me, with everything so raw right now, in ways that few can understand.

No matter who Shawn's become, the ten years, it wasn't my imagination that he and I were amazing together until the end, when that was not the case. Maybe part of my withdrawal process is looking back and worrying that I wasted ten years of my life in a make believe world, which then causes me to cry and wish I wasn't so alone in the world.

The thing about finding a great love, is it doesn't seem repeatable. It isn't. I think I'm trying to get used to the idea of dying alone, and that's still a rough one.