First Breath After a Coma

Rehab's a bitch.

And a real hell on earth when it's because of a heroin addiction.

I guess what happened was family issues and old self-esteem struggles eventually caught up with me and I had turned to narcotics for comfort.

BAD IDEA.

And the best part was when my alcoholic, rockstar boyfriend turned suicidal and regressed back to his old introverted self. It all became a fucking monumental tragedy.

My band, in a last ditch effort to get me off drugs, called my mother, who then organized an over-the-phone intervention with my aunts. I was then presented with an ultimatum. I could stay on tour with the easy access to every illegal substance imaginable and they would turn me into the police. Or I could leave the tour, along with Gerard, and check myself into a rehabilitation center.

Obviously, I chose the latter.

The relationships with my friends and family were strengthen, while my relationship with the man I loved combusted almost instantly when I left the hospital.

My head (and arms) were free from any signs of drugs for over a month, but for my withdrawn boyfriend it seemed like the exact opposite. Gerard had moved to cocaine while I was gone and was pretty much perpetually drunk.

I didn't trust my new found clarity enough to be tempted by him, so I presented him with an ultimatum. He could get sober and I'd stay with him. Or he could keep spiraling out of control and lose me to his addiction.

And we all know what path he chose.

It sometimes makes me wonder now if Gerard and I would have lasted he picked me instead of booze and blow.

Or was it fate that we found each other after both our lives were in check?