Amy Pierce

My husband’s in Boston

and my daughter’s on a late night show.

He’s sleeping snug as a bug in a rug—

I play drums on the heart of our home.

I worked all day,

cleaned, fed,

tended to our lot.

By the time it was nine

I’d given all I’d got.

She rumbles,

the dog mumbles,

and eventually I tumble down the hall—

until I’m pulled back

by her sweet siren call.

It’s the bottle again.

It’s white powder again.

It’s these tired eyes

and our heavy lives.

Finally,

I am living life

"The way you talk, it's so proper. Have you lived on Staten Island your whole life?" He went on.

"You don't belong here" he says. "You deserve Manhattan."

Feeling sophisticated I felt my way up and back downstairs without the hallway light. After shedding layer upon layer of cigarette soaked wool I stood lost by the fridge in fleece pajamas, warm and sick. Turkey sandwich in hand, with brownie crumbs on my pillow, I fell asleep feeling like Audrey Hepburn.

"You don't belong here." He says.

Cool sheets, tempid body,

Soft breaths of stale spirits,

Thoughts slowing, spacing

Sand castles in a pillowscape

An infinite desert

Minutes to hours

Light draws closer

Static on a television

Shifted hum of a window unit

Soft stale breaths

Old mascara smearing

Rolling over again

Soft stale breaths

An arm suspended

Unrecovered

Shifted covers

Soft stale breaths

"Go with God!"

The words rang out

so clear and blue

The grey cascade

Of nature too

"How can it be?"

I asked the moon

God echoed back

In flowers bloomed

I don't know the reason for the season

Or if there's mirrors in the math

But I'm glad and I'm golden and

I know for certain

Self esteem is a really cool thing. It means I get to like my own music without judgement. I wonder how many other places I’ve carried judgement on myself, probably every corner has traces, if I had to guess.

It’s wild to imagine I could live my life how I want to live it, again, without judgement.

I take pieces of the people I’ve known, the people I’ve loved, and if I like them I keep them and they can be mine, as if a friend lent me an album that I really really loved. I can leave behind the pieces I don’t like, as if a friend gave me a sandwich with pickles (and I really hate pickles).

Being here I am realizing how hard I worked for the things I wanted with X. How much I wanted things to work out, and how much God stood by me through all of those decisions. God has stood by me every step of the way, even here. 

I hear you in Music, God. Whenever a familiar song plays, I know it’s you reminding me you’re right here with me, and the things we want, the desire and the love you put in my heart, it’s all here for a reason. 

God I try to replace you all the time. With work. With relationships. With love. ,With marriage. I try to make you into something tangible, but you aren’t. I can’t say what you are, or how you are, or why you do the things you do, all I can do is try to connect with you. 

I remembered writing about this moment when I lived in Jacksonville. I remember distinctly missing the intangible feeling of who I was in New York before I moved, the skinny jeans, the heels, the e-cigarette. All I’d thought I’d left behind for something I wanted more. 

I remembered realizing I could find more beyond what I had. I remember the moment I realized I was in an unsafe situation. It’s not the fear that fills me, but the hope. The strength. The moment I realized I was strong enough to not just want for more, and not just ask for it, but go and get it. 

You never laid on a hand on me, I tell people that all the time when it comes to us. As if the distinction mattered. Which it does, abuse comes in all shapes and sizes, but it’s not the difference I’m stressing here - just the fact that I feel the need to point to it. 

I’m a lot of things I never thought I’d be. I’m an Account Executive. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m unmarried and rounding 30. Most importantly, I’m the woman who picked herself and her dreams over the timeline. I could have married you. I could have lived with you. I could have had a family with you. 

And I almost did. 

I was afraid of you. Quietly, at first. Then less so. Then I found the strength, but it slipped through my hands, and the fear shifted inward. Being alone seemed impossible. It turns out the remedy to fear is experience, and with faith I stood up to you - upon which the shadows came pouring out. The tears, the fear, the scared little man inside. 

Finally the equation became so easy: I am a whole person, and you are not. 

And now Today:

For two and a half years I had the voice of someone else telling me it was okay. Telling me I was smart, telling me I was beautiful, and telling me how much I meant to the world around me. 

I don’t have that voice anymore. I am on my own now. 

This is not a bad thing. As my roommate says, some people are in your life for a season. They’re there to show you something, to share something with you, and when it’s over - it’s over. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth anything, it doesn’t mean it was a waste of time. It just means the purpose of that relationship has been expended, and it’s time to move on to what comes next. 

I didn’t know how to take that for a while. I could see it objectively, I could understand it, imagine it. But sort of how I felt about alcoholism and addiction prior to getting sober, I didn’t see how it fit into my story. I’m starting to, though. 

Break-ups and being single are hard enough on their own. Toss in everything that we went through, and you’ve got yourself the recipe for a messy recovery, and I think that’s why it’s taken me so long to see it. I was angry. I was so angry with him. I was as angry as any woman would have been, but once the anger fades you’re just left with the pieces, and they’re not going to move on their own. I’m starting to pick up my life. At first I just thought that meant dating - for if a lamp breaks, the obvious answer is to go out and buy a new lamp. Relationships aren’t furniture, though. Life isn’t so clear cut. You can’t shop for love on amazon. It walks in when it walks in, and it walks out when it walks out. 

I’ve spent so much of my adult life trying to fit new relationships into the spaces of old ones, and it doesn’t work that way. You have to start fresh, and rather than focusing on the reality of what is no longer alive, appreciate the experience it gave you. Memorialize it, don’t idolize it, and don’t try to replace it. There are only so many times in our lives when we get to experience what it truly means to love and be loved, and just because it doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, it’s still precious. I won’t tarnish you. 

So now I’m moving forward in a new direction. Rediscovering what this sober life is. Rediscovering sober Amy. In comes in small bursts. I like John Mayer, there’s a quality. I like yoga - there’s another one. I have a sponsee - I am helpful, and the list goes on. Each day I discover or rediscover another piece of myself and slowly the feeling of love and usefulness returns. The broken pieces shift and start to create a new picture. They don’t look so broken anymore. Suddenly something new emerges, and it makes sense why the storm came through. I don’t see it all now, and that’s painful. I hear a song and think of him, and remember that wonderful feeling, and there’s a sadness there. It’s okay to mourn the important parts of your life. I can’t sit in those moments though, I can’t wallow and wish for what will never return. I can appreciate it, though. I can appreciate the interests you introduced me to, for those experiences became a part of who I am today. 

Still I wonder. What is the rest, though? What comes next, though? What will these pieces reveal? And there’s the catch, perhaps the beauty of life. We don’t know. These broken pieces aren’t tea leaves. I’m not a psychic, no amount of burning sage or incense or spirit animal tarot cards will reveal what comes next. I just have to wait, and take it day by day, and try to find what I love. Try to find that light on my own, and when I do, sit in those moments. Hold onto them. 

Maybe shifting things slowly

from shelves and drawers

to boxes and bags

maybe there is sadness

or maybe it is refreshing

to clean away the mess

Maybe this is rock bottom

maybe this is the breaking point

or maybe this is Tuesday,

and the mood has struck to clean house.

Whatever it may be 

I hope moving goes smoothly

and you stumble across only

things that brought you love

 that you don't cut your hands

on broken glass.

that it goes by quickly

that when it is done

you enjoy the peace and open space.

The market exists for love that doesn't hurt. For relationships built on shared values and mutual respect and there is a place where love doesn't break your spirit, force you to relinquish hope and give into the darkness.

There is a place for love in the light. Love that is safe, love that is shared, love that can grow like a tree not a house plant. A love that starts as a flower and grows into a garden, not a forest of hidden roots and tangled vines.

I can see it and I can't, it exists inside of me, I have found it for myself. The lost Oasis, I've found it and I am here and I am standing in the sun and I am waiting but I am gardening, too. For if I am to be alone it will be a beautiful place to be, and if I will have company, it will be a beautiful place to be.

I believe there is a beautiful place for love and I have found it on my own, and perhaps that is how it will stay, but one thing I know for sure, it is better to stand alone in the sun of my own garden, than to lay thirsty for it in the window of a house with a white picket fence.