Peeing Crack

I did it. It took a lot of deep breaths, it took a lot of trying and failing, but I finally called to talk to someone. It is for this Tuesday. We'll see what happens.

My parents believe that the drug test he took that day was wrong. He also took one yesterday for his PO. And passed. So thanks, Mom and Dad. Thanks for the support. I know they are trying to be supportive and trying to look out for me. But they think he drank something to detox his system before taking a drug test. That’s a lot, even for him. He wouldn’t know I would give it to him.

Even if he would, I need to get away. I can’t have my parents breathing down my throat on this. I can’t constantly live like this. He was fine. I swear he was fine before we got there. I swear he was fine when we went out with his parents. How could it only have affected him for that short time?

I can’t play the ifs, ands, and buts games. He was clean, wasn’t he? Even so, the fact that they don’t believe, and would go so far to look up in the internet to see if he drank something and how fast it would work, is really bothersome. They have always had problems with trusting. If one of us kids messed up, it would take forever to trust us again. Literally forever.

I want them to let me live my own life. To not treat me like a fricken idiot. I know the signs. I know when he looks high. I know when he looks fucked up. I don’t need a constant reminder; I don’t need a constant question and answer session.

Now it is going to be awkward, and worst part is, I feel like a fucking idiot because I have started to believe him. He loves NA, he loves it so much. He loves having been in recovery for almost a year. He prides himself on it. And I really don’t think he would want to start all over. That’s why I find it so hard to believe that he would do fucking crack again.

Maybe I am just one of those fucking idiots I hate. Those ones who actually believe that shit because they just don’t want to know the truth. The “ignorance is bliss” people. I used to be like that.

It’s easier. It’s cleaner. But it’s a lie.

What is the truth? Should I believe him? Should I believe the drug test? I am already angry with my parents for being so untrusting. For taking time out of their precious lives to look up my fucking husband’s ways out of peeing crack.

Am I wrong to be that mad at them?

I can’t seem to get out everything I want to say. I’m easily distracted right now. The point is two drug tests came out clean. The point is that he denied it. The point is is that I can’t handle anything else! I am going to fucking break.

Eating Me Alive

He went to his friend's house yesterday to play poker with his friend and his friend's dad and uncle. He was late coming home to go to my parent's for a play-off game. He looked normal. He acted normal. We got to my parent's house. He looked like a crack head. He acted like a crack head. He rubbed his eyes a lot, he barely ate, and he was literally falling asleep, like those great old days.

Of course, my dad noticed. He cornered me in the kitchen, asking me what was going on asking me where he was earlier. I lied, of course, and said he had been at home playing video games all day. I didn’t want him to know the truth, but I thought I knew the truth. Telling my dad that he had been gone, not under my supervision, would surely show my dad that he was doing drugs.

It went downhill and I bought a drug test after and he took it, and passed. It was a weird night, because he acted like a crack head there, but then we went out to dinner with his parents and he looked and acted normal.

I dreaded today because I knew my parents would take about it to me. And they did. My mom said I didn’t deserve this and I needed to talk to someone about forgiving (I had told her I couldn’t forgive him.)

I need help. This bitterness and hatred is eating me alive. I’m going to be honest. I’m going to finally tell the truth. And that truth is that I don’t think I can do it anymore. I tell myself I am doing good, I tell myself that I am taking baby steps and that each day is getting better. Some days are getting better.

But deep inside, I think I hate him. Sometimes I will look at him with such disgust. Some days I don’t even want to go home. Some days I love him, and want to hold him, and want to feel surrounded by his arms. Some days I laugh with him, and am thankful for him.

But those days are few and far between. I feel like I am drowning in my own anger. I can’t seem to get over it. Every thing he does wrong reminds me of then. Every time he is late, reminds me of then. Every time he doesn’t answer his phone I get angry all over again.

I honestly don’t want to be like this. It may be hard to believe, but I really don’t. I want to move on. I want to be strong within myself, not within my madness.

I want to embrace him, I want to look at him in love. I want to see the man I fell in love with, not the drug addict who fucked up my life.

I doubt him, I doubt everything about him. I doubt his truths, I doubt his lies. I doubt him.

I am not who I want to be. I want to be amazing. I want to be forgiving. I want to enjoy life. I don’t want this to be eating me alive. I want to love going home, not wishing that Sunday was actually a Monday.
I hate life. I hate this. I didn’t sign up for this. I thought I could do it. But maybe I can’t. I don’t want to live the rest of my life hating him, and hating myself.

I want to be close. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t touch him. I can’t make love to him. I can’t smile at him. I can’t even laugh at his stupid jokes.

He has become a chore. He has become a goal to conquer. A goal for me to become a better person.

Worst of all, I keep it all inside. I don’t talk to anyone about anything. I don’t have any friends I would be comfortable telling this to. I want to scream that I am not happy. I am not this person.

I need help.