Tags

, , ,

dice

For months on end I have been dreading this.

I had had my suspicions, so much so that I had gone through his phone and searched his car. When I found them, I had tried to ask him about it, but it only started a fight. Feeling like a crazy person, I prayed I was wrong.

But I was right.

Christmas this year did not go as I had planned. It started out in high spirits, visiting family, exchanging gifts, laughing and eating one too many Christmas cookies….it was fun and I was happy. We even spent the night at my grandparents on Christmas Eve so I could be with them Christmas morning.

Then Christmas day arrived.

I knew something wasn’t right, I just didn’t know what.

The first few hours went by ok, but by noon, he was feeling so ill that we had to leave early and miss Christmas dinner. We said our goodbyes and our apologies. I thought that the gloominess that consumed him was from missing his girls (he was divorced and got to see his two little girls every other holiday), so I was patient and tried to be understanding. We got home and he went straight to bed. I sat up, alone, on Christmas and watched some cooking show on TV. Eventually I dozed off for awhile too.

By the evening, he still wasn’t talking. He said that he just didn’t feel well. The gnawing feeling in my stomach started up. I knew something wasn’t right, I just didn’t know what. Or maybe I was pretending not to know.

That night, laying in bed, I heard him get up and open the bathroom medicine cabinet. He came back to bed and I asked him what he had been doing. He told me he took one of my promethazyne pills–an old prescription from when I was ill–to calm his stomach down.

I sat up in bed, and held my breath trying not to cry.

He asked why I was getting upset, said that it was no big deal. He only took it because his stomach hurt.

I told him I did not like him taking pills. Timidly, I asked him if he had been taking the other ones still.

He told me no.

I tried to explain that it just worried me….

He fidgeted around in the bed for a minute, then sighed. He said he took one three days ago.

I got upset again. Why did he just lie to me? I told him that I did not want him taking anymore of them, that I did not want him to buy them from his co-worker anymore.

He said he only did that a few times when he was sick to calm his stomach. He promised not to and told me to not make a big deal out of it.

The next day, he called me into the living room while I was brushing the tangled knots out of my post showered hair.

While he had been getting high, I was pleading with my phone company not to shut off my line.

He said he needed to tell me something, but that I had to promise not to leave him. He started to pull on the edges of the blanket that draped over his legs, his fingers shaking. He looked up at me then with tears in his eyes and told me that he was addicted to the hydrocodine he had been taking, that he had stopped taking it three days ago and was going through withdrawals.

For months on end I have been dreading this.

I had had my suspicions, so much so that I had gone through his phone and searched his car. When I found them, I had tried to ask him about it, but it only started a fight. Feeling like a crazy person, I prayed I was wrong.

But I was right.

The past few days now made sense. He looked at me crying and said that he was done with the stuff, that he was getting clean while he was out of work over the holidays. He said he needed my help.

With a mixture of emotions swirling around inside me, I asked him how many he had been taking a day. He said sometimes five, sometimes just one. Five a day? 

I asked him how much they were. He said ten dollars a pill. Ten dollars a pill?!

While he had been getting high, I was pleading with my phone company not to shut off my line. We had fought over this, over me asking about the little white spheres and he had screamed that I was just trying to start a fight. He had lied to me too many times to count. He had spent our rent money on his addiction. He had jeopardized his finances and mine. He had let me go hungry.

But he needed my help?

Who else was there to help him? He had pushed everyone else away. I was the only one he had told and he was doing the right thing by stopping.

But I am not sure that I want to stay, that I have the strength to stay.

I agreed to help him. I love him and care about him and I know he cannot do it alone. But I am not yet ready to place all bets on us for I am tired of always feeling like the crazy person and praying to be wrong.

So today, while he is sweating and shaking through the pain, I’ll be doing just the same from my addiction of loving him.

Olivia Red

Advertisements