Story cover for Recovery by secondhazeev
Recovery
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Continúa, Has publicado may 25, 2014
"I went to my father's burial the other day. There was no service, just a burial. It was an uneventful, strange experience. But, there was one thing that stuck with me that I haven’t been able to let go of since.
There was a man that was around, who saw the world, who spoke and connected with people, who experienced both darkness and light, had complex experiences and thoughts and emotions. For 36 years this went on. And then this man died, and all of that life, all of that personal experience, that darkness and light, was put into one little black box and buried under the ground. 
I haven’t been able to reconcile that emotion yet, I’m not sure I know how. It all started with him. And after that, My mother attempted suicide in her sorrows. I could imagine how hurt she was. The woman who had been married for 14 years with the man she devoted her life to, was now left alone to rot in a box. Widowed and alone. And my only way of communication was through word While she was caged in there, I was caged in here. With others just like me, but oh, so different."
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I've dreamed of the perfect marriage ever since I was a little girl: a marriage complete with a hardworking husband while I tended to the home and our children, preferably four little rugrats to call my own. I dreamed of a life filled with laughter, joy, and success, a life we built together. I dreamed of growing old next to my husband, creating a great love story to tell our grandchildren someday. It all seemed so possible. I was raised to be the perfect wife, after all. From the outside, it seemed I had exactly what I dreamed of with the rich, determined husband; the brilliant, gaudy diamond ring; and the beautiful home filled with the hope of future children. Yes, it was all a dream come true. I should have felt grateful, really. The problem is, I also wanted a marriage based on love, passion, and affection, but those are the only things my husband cannot give me . . . . . . because they're reserved for her. For readers: * I do my best to proofread before publishing, but some typos and errors will slip through. Feel free to point them out! * Comments, active engagement, and helpful critiques are welcomed. * Mean, unnecessary comments that attack me, personally, or other commenters will be ignored and deleted. It takes a lot of courage to publish your work and for others to actively engage in a community. I'd like to keep this a safe and fun place to rage at imperfect heroes and cheer for darling heroines! * I'm not a spicy writer. I rather use my word count for plot, character development, and GROVEL!!! * Most importantly, I hope you enjoy the little world I'm creating. Happy reading, everyone! ADS/Imaginationgirl35
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"I want a divorce." And just hearing him say that my whole world that seemed to revolve around him stopped. Gathering myself I barely managed to speak in a voice that even I could not recognise. I couldn't comprehend anything going around me. "Wh..hy?" As soon as the words left my mouth he threw the file and the photographs spread across the floor. And those photographs had me in compromising positions with not one but several men. Looking at those photos I looked straight into his eyes. Disgust and hatred. The only emotions I could see. Taking a deep breath I composed myself and tried to keep my face void of the emotions I felt at that moment. Hurt and immense pain. If he didn't trust me then he has no right to see me vulnerable too. "Is this the only reason why you want to divorce me? No other except this?" It was foolish of me to ask him but I had to make sure. Also for me trust comes before love. If he doesn't trust me I don't even want to save the relationship. "Is this not enough you whore? What else can I expect from a slut and a gold digger like you! I knew it from the start that all you showed was just a facade. Your innocence, kindness, it was all fake. I just don't believe how can I be so dumb." Was I hurt? No I was broken beyond repair. My heart ached. I felt like I was seconds away from collapsing. I had far exceeded the limit of hurt and pain. I was so powerless in that moment that I couldn't even fight with him. Love makes you strong. I have heard and felt that countless times but they always forget to mention what comes after that. Love makes you weak too. I couldn't shout at him because I loved him. But I had to be brave. For myself. ************************************************** Is love enough for two people to be together or is there something more important than love? This is story of Xander and Sophie who loved each other but still couldn't be together. Because more important than love is trust. © All rights reserved
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard