vent

I went to the house we are buying today and witnessed the neighbors drinking and partying and playing loud music. Is it age that makes me cringe? Is it the thought that my children will see them doing these things? Is it that I too lived that life and grew out of it? Is it my salvation? Religion? What makes me sick of the sight of these people?
Whatever it is it makes me also plan the inside shutters for all windows facing them. I visualize our fence going up and trees planted in the median yard. I have no desire to speak to them and no desire to even smile or wave. I will not dress like Donna Reed and offer them a plate of freshly baked cookies, "Why welcome to the neighborhood- Neighbor!"I do not want them there, which is not nice of me, BAD JOY, slap my wrist.
I am no better or worse than anyone- right? I feel better than drug addicts and alcoholics though- really, I feel like I am a better person. Yet I am a food addict, I adore chocolate and love diet soda. But you have to eat to live, not as much as I would like to eat, but you have to eat to survive.
I was with a drug addict for most of my life, at this point, and I am not tolerant to thier behavior. I was co-dependant and I suffered post tramatic stress due to his abuse and his neglect. I took anti-depressants and saw doctors because he had me convinced it was my issue-not his. I made him do it.
Then a head doctor told me something that stuck, she said, "it's all in your head."
I thought- IN MY HEAD- it's not a disease, not a physical burden, although it made me sick like cancer, it is not an issue of reality. IT'S IN MY CURLY HEAD.
I decided it- HE- would no longer be in my head, nor my heart and I spent a year or so mourning loss. Loss of him, loss of who I was, loss for the kids, loss of his health, our dreams together, loss of his truth, loss of his morals and his standards, just loss. I no longer took the meds, I wanted to feel sadness and loss and anger and hurt, I wanted to feel so I would know what it is and never even consider being with him again.
And I grew from mourning. I grew very much. It HURT, it hurt like childbirth. It throbbed, ached, and nearly took me a few times.

And now that sight- of people out on the lawn on a lovely day getting messed up makes me ill.
I should pray that they change, that they grow, I should pray that I can accept. I will so do that while I put up shutters and peek on them and thank God that I am not getting in that car with someone who is intoxicated, and I am not being yelled at when he comes down, and I am safe and warm in a bed with a man that only slept with me today and would never hit me.

I am so grateful.