screaming on lexington avenue

About a month before you went into the hospital, you and Philip were in New York. You can’t quite remember the events leading up to the argument, but the denouement took place on Lexington Ave up in the 80s while it started down by Astor place. You and Philip role-play as if you have children. So far, there is Elliot, the oldest who is a freshman at college now. Then there is Oliver, the antithesis of Elliot, he is the worst dork inside of you all. Then Edith is sixteen and getting into trouble with drugs. The youngest, brilliant, doesn’t actually have a name yet.

He role-plays himself as the dad and you role-play as Edith. You play yourself actually, a caricature of yourself, an extreme. This role-play evolves into a philosophical discussion about addiction. What does it mean? What is it? How does one assuredly diagnose? Is it black and white? No doubt these are questions addicts hold internal dialogues over, and it is part of discussions between addicts. In your head you ask, “Do I know all the answers? What answers will I have when I become a mother? Will I even be a mother?” He doesn’t like talking about it, because it turns into an argument over definitions and dogma. Posturing humility, you say that the definition of addiction and all the consequential shit that comes along with it don’t actually matter in a discussion between the two of you. All you need from him is his respect for the fact that you call yourself an addict. These last two points were made on the upper east side, jumping up and down, foot stomping, arms flailing, and your voice raised in serious consternation. That is the brilliant part of New York City, no one cared. Being emotional is not taboo.

A moment of calm overcame you though, after your outburst and his lack of reaction. Whether he was trying to or not, he assisted you in coming to know that first, you are human. Then you are an addict. Then you are Penelope.

You slept so well that night. He feathered your back with butterfly kisses when you cuddled. This is why you love him. You can fight him, you can argue, and be as stubborn as you like. You’re not afraid any longer to be yourself; that is a gift from being in recovery. Thinking about it, you guess then what you love about him is not that you can be yourself with him; but that he swims alongside you in your processes, patiently, tolerantly, compassionately.