I am thoroughly sick. I did not realize that I was this ill until today. C called from rehab wanting me to get him and escort him to the viewing. As you will recall C's mom passed away on Monday. Historically C deals with death by medicating himself silly with a pill or crack or whatever he can find. I was not surprised to hear him on the phone telling, not asking me, to retrieve him from his "work" and take shuttle him to the funeral home. I know that he is frustrated and I know that he is grieving but I lost it. I left work on a quick break to deposit a check (that is already spent) and cried like a baby to the bank and back. Why? Why to I do this? Why do I base so much of who I am with this man? Is it unhealthy? I love him. I love him deeply. I want to be with him forever. I love the man behind the addict. He is beautiful, tough, emotional, hard, sexy, caring, jerk, etc. All of these characteristics make me love him more. Make me? How can someone make me? I make myself. Or do I? Isn't this what I read about, contemplated about? Codependency.
For years I lost to Vicodin. I lost every battle I waged. I lost my mind. When C couldn't find his beloved pills he turned to liquor, the other love of his life. When that wasn't as much fun he turned to speed, meth, ice, crack, coke, and on and on. He never did heroin, though I suspect that his love affair with Vic would have progressed to Heroin. They are all related. He loves them, he hates them.
Now I face a distinct possibility of losing him forever. I cannot endure the scenes that flicker through my head, a horror movie that will not stop. I see him with the life insurance money and I see his pain. His anguish is apparent with every cent he wastes on pseudo happiness. Does it matter what he buys? He can drink his sorrow, snort it or smoke it. It will all give him the same effect. Every pill he swallows carries him further away from life, from light and warmth and the love he refuses to acknowledge. The disease warps his mind as he lies on the concrete of an overpass, dirty and stinking from days of zoned out living in the Texas summer. The children's questions turn to cries as they search for the answer to "why?". My voice falters when the phone rings. I knew this day would come though I prayed that I would not receive the call. He did not make it through the last escape. He has succumb to a disease that killed his soul. I watched it. I loved him through it. I die in part with him. The disease kills me too, though I live to raise our children. Again he has the escape and I have the pain. I have the nights of sleeplessness with crying children. I have the night of loneliness with no one. I have nights of silence when I used to have nights of fighting.
I sit here at my computer typing these words that C will never see. He will never acknowledge my pain. His disease is selfish and as such causes the patient selfishness. He could read the words and never feel what I mean by them. I can only pray to God that C does return to rehab tomorrow. I can only pray that C will stay at rehab once the reality of mom's passing sinks in. I can only pray. Lord knows I cannot change it! It took about 6 years but I can say it and mean it! I know that I am basically insane, but I am going to put the marriage idea on the back burner for a while. I have to make sure that C is going to be committed to this before I commit to him again.
On a happy note, sober or not, our sex life was slamming. It has been several months since this girl got "her rocks off" as my brothers would say! Tomorrow, and yes this is really bad, we have plans to sneak back here and fuck like animals before I have to return him to the rehab. He is a man after all and they cannot really expect an adult to abstain from sex for 18 months! Also, isn't the saying something like "Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll!"? I mean, if the place is full of addicts chances are they when they were rocking out to great music, mellow and high, that they really liked to screw. Wouldn't sex be something that they really miss? Enough with analyzing. Even if I get nothing else from him, one last orgasm (or several if we have the time!!!) is a great way to part.
P.S. Thank you to Junky's Wife. I read your blog daily. I read the blogs you have on the side of your page. I enjoy, no, I need to see them. Misery loves company but so does happiness! http://www.thejunkyswife.com
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Man...this stuff is hard. About 3 weeks into his initial withdrawal, my husband's mother committed suicide. He relapsed...but he got it back together afterwards. It's important to remember that he might relapse, and that it's part of the illness. After he gets out of rehab, you'll be able to tell, I bet, if he's getting better or not...he's learning the tools he needs to stay clean during rough times now...and maybe it'll stick.
I'll keep you in my thoughts, though. I can see all the raw emotion, and I relate to that fear SO MUCH.
Take care of yourself!
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