[𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄]
𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒
30 Months...
Almost three years since my accident. My first game playing pro in the NHL and I blew it. Many people have tried to help me but I'm past giving a fuck now. I just want to be left alone to drink my s...
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"Ronan! Ass on the ice, now!"
Yeah you fucking heard that right.
Me.
Ronan James is back on the ice.
Last week Shelby was joking about me being ready to start training and this week I'm here, currently kitting up to go back out onto the ice.
For real this time, with a team - my team.
I think my therapist was shocked by how much excitement I was able to get out in one session. Especially because I hate going, all he normally see's is my scowling face.
I never imagined I would be back here where I am now. I thought I was done for, never to play pro again. Yet here I am, standing here in my kit about to train like it's something I do everyday.
It's about to become my everyday.
How could I hide or downplay how huge this was to my therapist? The guy was annoying, annoyingly good. Sloan recommended him to me and for that I also couldn't be more grateful, because since that last AA meeting I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol.
It's funny how trauma can addict you to things that otherwise you wouldn't become addicted to. Like alcohol in my case, yet most, if not all of my addiction came from my trauma with it. From my childhood full of the poisonous liquid, after all my mother chose it over me.
Every damn day she made that choice.
Now I know addiction is an illness, injury of the mind.
But it doesn't mean you can ignore that with it comes choice. I was right there in front of her day after day, watching with eyes full of hope that she would pick me over the bottle. She never did, not when CPS got involved, not when she was told she was killing herself slowly.
Not even when they knocked on the door and dragged me out of my home, away from my mom. I screamed and begged, I didn't want to go with these people, I didn't want a new home - even if it was better.
I wanted my mom.
For once, just one day I wanted my mom. I wanted her to fight for me, tell them no that I wasn't going anywhere.
She let them take me.
After being shoved in the back of a car I remember pounding on the windows and screaming her name. She watched from the front window, face so still you would think she was a picture.
