Impotence

I've been thinking a lot lately of our first year of marriage.

I don't even recognize who I was back then. How did I get through that? I had no one...or at least, I let no one in. I don't know the person who made it through the nights where he didn't come home until the early morning hours. I don't know how I cooked him a meal every night, only to have it sit in the fridge until 3am - most nights, not even getting eaten. I don't even recognize myself from back then.

However, I see one remnant...almost daily...to remind me of that part of our lives. It's a painful one, and it rests solely on me. I'm sad to say it but our intimate life...the side that husbands and wives should cherish, the side where you express your love...it has all but left. For me.

When we were younger, when we were teenagers, all I wanted to do was to touch him. I wanted to feel his tongue in my mouth, and hold him in my hand. I could barely keep myself off of him. In fact, some days, we were like exhibitionists.

But something happened. I don't know when, I don't know how, I don't know where. But I stopped feeling that way. I can't entirely blame it on him, because if you have been following this, you know I cheated on him during our engagement. I am not sure if it's because of this that left me not wanting him. Or if it's because of the crack.

It's not like I still want that other person. There is no one else. But I am closed off to him, and I am clueless as to how to re-open.

He craves me. He physically craves me. He reaches for me, he touches me, and instead of re-coiling, I'm just numb to his touch. It means nothing. When he is inside me, I am doing it solely for him. I don't care to do it at all. It is nothing I look forward to.

This really scares me. We have been through a lot and if he were to cheat on me, honestly, I couldn't blame him. I do nothing. I do it out of guilt, and enjoy none of it.

It makes me sound horrible. It makes me sound like a freak.

I was on meds for awhile while we were married. Perhaps that f-cked up my sex drive. I don't know. All I know is that I want it back.

I want to embrace him and to feel wanting for him. To feel physical desire towards him and with him and to feel that sexual passion ignite again and to never want to be away. I have tried everything. I have tried romantic things, forceful things, dominating things - nothing puts me in that place.

And it's hard to think it's just him because I feel this way towards everything. I simply have no desire to do anything sexual.

Is this salvageable? I don't know. I just know I really want it back.

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.

Simply Late

Wow, it has been almost two weeks. I have been busy with work and family activities, husband and friend stuff.

Things are decent. I feel like anything I report is going to be too boring and lame to mention. I do have things that are going on to me, things that I feel are changing me, but that will be posted at a later date when I can finish writing it.

I am starting to distance myself from this blog, and it bothers me somewhat. I feel sometimes that things are getting better, and I don't need to blog or write anymore about my husband's addiction, but then something grand will happen and I will be sent right back into that wave of fury.

I was talking with Rae on Sunday, and something hit me. Every time he is late, every time he doesn't answer the phone, every time he calls back an hour later, will I constantly question him? Will I constantly wonder where he is, what he's doing, who he's with? Will doubts always fill my mind, for the rest of my life?

I don't want that! I don't want to always resort to the worst possible thing in my mind just because of things that happened in the past. I know I will for awhile, but I don't want to for the rest of time.

Why can't I just think that he's late? Or his phone is on vibrate? Why do I always have to jump to the worst thing? I hate that dreadful feeling I get, the one that wells up in the pit of your stomach. I hate it.

I don't always want to feel like that. I don't always want to think he went back to crack. Will I ever be able to believe him or trust him again? Or will I always turn into a monster when he is late. I don't want to always think he was arrested or is high or is doing something terrible.

Why can't I just think he is simply late. I don't want to feel nervous all the time. I want it to stop.

Sacrifice

Last night we were arguing. Nothing new, nothing surprising. Rae called and asked if we would go on a double date with a guy that she previously dated. I'm all for it, because lately it is the only way I can see Rae at all. But Chris - not so much. He is not a fan of the double dates.

The fight escalated into so many thing that it shouldn't have been. All I really wanted was for him to say okay. He doesn't have to enjoy it. But I just wanted him to sacrifice for me. Sacrifice a few hours of his life, and make me happy. We are going to dinner. There is food involved. It was turning into a huge deal and it was really hurting me. We have had this discussion so many times.

I know he doesn't enjoy the same things I do. I know he doesn't particularly want to go. But I don't really want him to be gone at NA's all the time.

The thing is, I don't think he really realizes how much I have sacrificed and lost for him. I know he does things around the house and he tries to be a good husband now, but that's it. It's now. It's not then. I know I probably need to forgive but that is way too easy to say. I just want him to realize what he put me through. I just want him to realize that for the first 7 months of our marriage, he was married to crack. He was never around. I did everything. I cooked, I cleaned, I lived alone. And when he "decided" through his arrest that he would become "clean", I lost him again to 3 nights of NA.

I don't want to sound like a complaining bitch who is not happy that he doing what he should be doing. I am glad that he is doing this - to get support, to have friends, to be involved with something greater than himself and greater than drugs. But at the same time, when he tells me I never do what HE wants, I believe in essence I am doing what HE wants every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, when I sit at home and veg in front of the tv. It is not my choice to be alone so often. I would love to go do something. I would love to do something every week, just the two of us.

There is a church thing. Every Wednesday. I would like to do that with my husband. But when I said that last night in the heat of the argument, he said "I'm sorry...but Wednesday's are my home group." Oh, your HOME group! Well, I'm sorry. I'm only your wife. Have never been the priority. but I would like to be.

I want him to get his priorities straight. I want him to WANT to put my first, not only do it because I tell him to.

It's not only about the fricken' double date. It's about compromise; it's about sacrifice. It's about doing things that you may not want to because you love that person. Apparently, I am way too far ahead of him for him to even try to grasp onto that knowledge.

Another Monday night

He came home on Monday night after his class, looking cracked up. Looking like he did at the beginning of this. Looking fucked up. I confronted him on it immediately. He denied it all. He said he was at his meeting. He said he was not lying anymore and why would he risk it? He didn't want to lose me. I said, I don't care. You're a fucking crackhead. You're an addict. Maybe you relapsed. Just tell the truth.

Still denial.

I sent him to Walgreen's to get a drug test. Yes, I did. He called while he was there, asking which test to buy. The one for only crack? Or the one that covers it all. I wanted the one that covers it all, but it is 30 bucks and we are running too low this month. This week. And I was on the phone with Rae, telling her it all. She said to buy the one that covers it all. But by the time I called him back, he had already bought the crack one. The coke one. The one I had originally said. And he had left. I told him to go back; I told him to return it. I would not feel completely secure in the knowledge of sobriety if he didn't test for everything. He didn't go back.

He took the test. He was clean. It didn't mean what it should have. It didn't mean anything. Rae said it was good because that was the main problem.

It was the same "class" as last week, when he wasn't back until 12:30am. Monday nights. He showed me the signature he had gotten from the teacher that he went, for his PO, but that meant shit, as we all know. What's really going on.

What the fuck is going on. I just want the truth. I can be okay, I can be fine, I can be great BY MYSELF. But I cannot be any of those things without knowing the truth.

I will not live in a marriage of lies. I told him that if that happens, I won't even mess around with the talk. He will leave. He will call his father to come pick his revoked license ass up - fuck that, he can drive himself for all I care.

It is unsettling. But I am fine. I'm better than fine. I will be fine whether or not he is a liar. He does not define me. I do not need him. So bring it on. I'm ready.

Truth

I guess I’m back. I will be honest – I am completely unmotivated. I have been completely unmotivated to do anything. It is not like I am sitting at home depressed. I just have no motivation. If I plan to do something, then I look forward to it and will do it with everything I have. But lately, I don’t look forward to much and I don’t plan much.

I am aggravated easily.

Something bad happened a couple days ago. Not bad like Chris using again. But bad, like I got the truth when I don’t really know if I wanted it. I do that a lot. I ask question of him: “Where did you do it? Did you do it in my car? Did you smoke with other girls? Did you do it everyday? How many times a day? Did you do it on our wedding day?” Etc., etc., etc. The list can go on.

With my new job, I find myself driving around the city to visits and wondering if he did it here, or there. If he was in this dangerous place or that one. And so my curiosity finally got the best of me. We went on walk the other day and I asked him. I asked him everything I could think of. The questions come up a lot. They don’t ever stop. I could simply be singing away in my car, minding my own business, and BAM. A question. Something I need to know.

So on this particular day, I got a bunch of things answered. I found out where he did it – the specific streets. Streets I travel on. I found out that he lied, again. Ever since the truth came out, and I say that because I will not say “ever since he came clean” because he didn’t. He did not come clean with me. He did not willingly say to me that he was a crackhead. No, he was arrested. He was caught and that is how it came out.

So I will say again, ever since the truth came out, I lived with that. I lived with what I knew. I had my own image of what he did on a daily, nightly, weekly basis. But after all my questions poured out of me like vomit, I found out that not only was he doing crack on those days, he was also going to the casino two or three times a week with our money. OUR money. Apparently it wasn’t enough that he was buying crack to shove into his lungs, he also needed to waste our money at a fucking casino.

After he came out, and he had the one friend I approved of left over, they wanted to go to the casino. I figured that this was a relatively safe, fun, un-drug-using activity. I’m not a moron though. I know it’s addicting behavior and he has an addictive personality. But I didn’t want to restrict him on everything. And this kid was decent.

So off he went to be an addict. Off he went to gamble away our money. So when he told me that he used to go to the casino all the time when he was doing drugs, I cannot even tell you how that made me feel.

The fact that here I was, thinking I was being nice, thinking I was letting him rarely, sometimes go to the casino, when all along he had been going dozens of times, stealing my money, and enjoying himself made me sick. It made me so mad, infuriated. I could not even comprehend the anger I felt. If I had known, if I had had ONE little inkling, I never in a million years would have let him go to the casino when he had been going there all along.

I felt horrified. I felt betrayed. And what I can name now – taken advantage of. My kindness after EVERYTHING he had put me, us, our marriage through, and he had been doing it all along, was undeserved. I would have GLADLY taken away that privilege if I had known that that is another place all of our money went to. Just writing about it now makes me so unbelievably mad. Does it make sense? Does anyone else understand what I am saying?

The simple fact that I thought I was being nice. I thought I was being NICE. And he was just taking more of our money to a place I never knew he went to THREE TIMES a week. I would have banned that place from him. It hurts.

Do I really want to know all these little truths that may mean nothing to him but sting me down to my bone? Do I really want them to keep coming out over the years? Or is ignorance bliss.

Scattered Showers

It's funny - the way life is. My mom and I went for a walk yesterday. My mom and I have this unique relationship. Sometimes I just want to call her up and tell her all about things, all about my life, all about my feelings. Sometimes I visit reality, which tells me that that is not the greatest idea.

My dad and I are closer - we have this special bond. I am the most like him. But as I have gotten older, I have grown closer to my mom too. My mom is great to hang out with. To go shopping with and walk with and drive with, and just anything. She gets me. She laughs at my jokes. She laughs when I make fun of people. Even if she completely disagrees or thinks I am being a heinous bitch, she laughs. It's wonderful. My dad won't laugh. He has to be in right mood. Otherwise, he will look at me in annoyance and ask if that is how he raised me.

I love my parents deeply. They are everything to me. So when I walk with them or hang out with them, I savor it.

When I was walking with my mom, she asked how Chris was doing. I said good. He seemed good. I know that sounded to her like I had no clue what I was talking about. "Seems?" But I don't want to claim to know when what if I don't? And I don't want her to think I don't know anything either. It's a slippery slope. She said he seems ... and she couldn't think of the word. He is eating a lot more, she said. He is talking a lot more as well. I said that he got a little pot belly when he started to eat like a normal human and she laughed. She doesn't know that I love that pot belly.

I love his little belly, with his treasure trail. It is the softest part of his body. Or one of them. It is so smooth and so beautiful. I love it.

Sidetracked. And as I was talking with my mom, I thought to myself how interesting that we have already been married 1 year. Already. And then I thought how this year was absolutely nothing like what I thought it would be. It was perhaps the exact opposite. Already, in my first year of marriage, we have dealt with my husband being a crack addict. It is so beyond anything I would have expected. I don't even know what to type now. I am just staring at the screen in awe about what has happened in my life already.

I am not this girl. I am a boring person. My life is simple. I have not experienced what so many have and already I am miles away from what so many experience. I married an addict who lied and used and stole and hurt for months and months and I am still here, with that same addict, telling my story. I am still here, alive and well, and have pulled myself through it. He is here; he is making steps; he is making progress. For the rest of our lives he will be an addict. For the rest of our lives, he will forever be addicted. And every day for years and years he will have to consciously put those things behind him and choose wisely and differently than in the past.

It's a strange feeling - the feeling of being thrust into something you cannot control and did not expect and yet still coming out. And then to look back on it and see what you have accomplished...I am proud of myself. I am proud of JW, and MPJ, and Married to my Ex, and all the others I am forgetting for sticking with what is so hard and not giving up.

I cannot put into words how I feel right now. But this year was a whirlwind, and a tornado, and a hurricane, and finally, the closest thing I have known to calm in this year - scattered showers.

Background #4

A month after New Year's Eve, literally January 31st, he didn't come home. And to be quite honest, I can't even remember how long he was gone. It could have been one night, it could have been 1/2 a day, it could have been two nights.

It's funny, isn't it? How your memory does that to you? So many things I don't remember. I try so hard to remember. I think I am trying to protect myself by blocking out painful things.

All I remember was that his parents knew he was not home, again. I was so calm and relaxed. I only started worrying when they said they were coming over. I knew something had happened then. I knew something bad. I didn't think death; I thought jail. I thought a crime. Something we would have to go through. And sadly, sometimes I wished it was death. It sounds so horrible to say, but I was living in hell and couldn't bear much more.

They came up and we stood in the kitchen for what seemed like eternity before I said "Okay, what happened." Negatively, preparing for the worst. I remember his mom saying the exact words, "Well, he's not dead." Sarcastically, annoyed. And I knew that whatever he had done was possibly worse than death. I knew that everything I had been going through and every moment was culiminating to this.

He was in jail. He was arrested the night before for something with drugs. They didn't know much else. I stood there. I just stood there. His parents stood there too. We just stared on. I finally said "Well, what am I supposed to do?"

What a ridiculous question! What stupidity! Like they were going to tell me what to do with my life. Like they were going to tell me how to handle their fucked-up son. Like I would listen to their answers anyways.

I started crying then. I did not want to cry in front of them - such vulnerabilty, such a show of emotion for people I did not show emotion in front of. His dad hugged me then, held me really, for an eternity, minutes upon minutes.

They told me they would not leave me alone. They wanted me to call someone, and I told them I would. But who to call? No one really knew what I was going through. No one knew anything. I could not just surprise them with this thing - completely out of the blue. Besides, I didn't need anybody.

But I told them I would call my friend. I told them I would call Amber. And true to my word, I did call her. But she was in another city and could not get back.

I spent the night by myself, knowing my husband, my brand new husband, was sitting in county.

Fucking Debt

I can't handle it today. I just can't. I don't know how to even explain to him how I feel.

We were discussing our bills. Discussing how tomorrow I'm going to a bank to fill out an application for a loan. We have no collateral - no house, no boat, nothing. And the car I do have - a discontinued sports car to one day become a classic - is not worth anything to them either apparently.

He is such a fucking bastard sometimes. He says he is sorry that we are in this fucking mess, but it doesn't help one fucking bit. We still owe a shit load of money, and every penny is because of him. Because of him I opened another credit card so I could pay rent. Because of him, we couldn't pay off his credit cards that already existed and now the interest is incredible.

But he doesn't see it this way. He gets defensive. He says that I should have had a full time job when we got married then. It's my fault of course.

I fill up with anger and frustration and all kinds of hatred but I cannot express it fully. The only thing I can do is tell him that I am mad at him for those things. And he says sorry for one second and then changes his course five minutes later.

He fucked up my credit. He fucked up everything related to it. Before we got married, my credit was a beautiful thing. I paid them off in TOTAL every single fucking month. Now I can barely make the minimum payment.

That wonderful car I was talking about? It is incredible. My dream car. But since I have no money, I cannot put anything into it. I need to start thinking of a new car, or if I should put money into this one. Each of those things requires a loan for me. And I can't fucking get one until his fucking bills are paid off.

The ramifications of what he did go deep. Every time I think we are a little better, something else pops up and my anger bubbles over again. Will we ever be rid of his fucking stupidity? Will it ever be officially over? Will I ever be free to mostly forget that he was a fucking crackhead who wasted our money?

I wish he would be grateful for everything I do. I am the one who made the appointment with the bank tomorrow. I am the one going. I am the one who pays the bills every month. I'm the one who keeps track of everything. I am the one who found our new fucking apartment; I am the one who figures out what we need when we go shopping. I am the one who keeps track of the fucking money in our fucking account.

Such a fucking ingrate who fucked up my life.

Background #3

On New Year's Eve, we had plans to spend our first "Eve" as a married couple. But at 10:45pm, Chris had to go to the bathroom. Embarrassing enough as it is, we were out of toilet paper. We were poor, and didn't make time to run out and get some.

So Chris said he was just going to run to Walgreens right down the road, grab some, and be back here before the big ball dropped. I told him that he never came back on time. He promised he would.

At 11:15pm, I figured he would be back any minute. At 11:30pm, he still wasn't back. I was getting a little anxious, not wanting to miss the big moment with my husband. I called, but big surprise, no answer.

11:45pm, not here. At 11:59, after numerous phone calls, he still wasn't back and I sat and watched a new year begin by myself. Drinking my fake champagne.

Of course, I kept calling and eventually crawled into bed. I worked the next morning and could not wait up forever. The next morning came and he was not there. He still didn't answer. I got ready for work, and on the way there, calling his mom and telling her because I did not know what else to do.

It was typical for him not to come home, as I've noted in past blogs, but it was not typical for him to be gone all night. And since I couldn't keep calling, and since I couldn't go looking, I let his mom know. She asked if he had been home last night. And against my usual nature of protecting him and trying to save face, I said no.

She said thanks for letting her know and she would keep me posted. I worked for awhile and his aunt called my work. We have always had an instant connection - she is crazy and loud like me - and I broke down to her.

I will spare the details, but I ended up leaving early (time and 1/2!!) and stayed at his aunt's for the day. They lived right down the street from where we did so they could constantly drive by and see if his car was there.

After his family showed up there, and my sister did too, his car was in our apartment driveway. His dad dragged him to his aunts, where I refused to come out and he refused to come in.

He claimed he had went to Walgreens but that there was a note on the door saying they would be back in 1/2 an hour. He claims he fell asleep waiting. In the morning, when he woke up, it was because cops were knocking at his window wanting to know what he was doing there. Searching his car, searching him.

I did not believe him, obviously. Walgreens, having a note like that?! Please. Maybe a little Ma-and-Pop store. But Walgreens? And then to be delayed by the cops for what, six hours? Sure.

After awhile of that, he left.

I decided to leave. I was going to stay at my parents. So my sister, and his parents, went back with me to our apartment and as I was going in, he was walking out. We didn't talk, nothing.

I went to my parents. I stayed there for three days. During this time, he would call, he would text, etc.

I can't even tell you how I felt. At first, I was so angry with him lying. I was so mad and so hurt that he did that to me on New Year's and at all! Then I just didn't care. I didn't care what he was saying because I knew it was nothing but lies.

I told myself that if he didn't come in to talk to me (at his aunt's), then I was not talking to him. And if he didn't tell me the truth, the whole truth (and nothing but), I was leaving.

And so I did.

The first day without him was a blur. I was depressed, and so confused. I didn't know what to do. I'm sure my family was also so confused, but that is for another installment of the "Background" series.

On the 2nd day, at night, I wanted to go over and discuss. But at 9pm, he still wasn't answering his phone. My dad, probably more pissed off than me, volunteered to drive to Chris' work and see if his car was there. I said no, it was okay. I waited a little, then told my parents I was going there.

I think they were worried about my safety, being that they already suspected something horrible.

I did the spying wife game, and drove to his work only to see that his car wasn't there. He was at home when I arrived. We talked about what happened, and about didn't happen. He stood by his story, never budging, and I repeatedly asked if he was doing drugs. Over, and over. He denied it to the bottom of his heart. He swore up and down.

Manipulating bastard.

Background #2

To my in love, naive, sweet self, I never in a million years expected Chris to be cheating on me with the worst whore there is - drugs. I knew he had flirted with her in the past. I knew he had tasted her and lusted after her, but I thought I had satisfied his needs. I thought he had grown too old and too mature for that kind of "love."

I was wrong.

We went on our honeymoon. It was a mixed bag. It was great; it was awful. It was miserable. One of the days in the middle of the 5 day stay, he found a bag of pot behind a picture on the wall. Funny, looking back on it. His paranoia of flushing it, then throwing out the baggie far away from our room. I understood it originally, but looking back on it shows a completely different reason for his fear.

We got back from our honeymoon on Saturday night. And it went downhill from there. From then, September of 06 to February of this year, he would leave at weird times. He would say he had to go to his parents for something and he would not be back for hours. I would text his brother or his dad, and they would say he hadn't been there for an hour, sometimes not even at all.

We would get in huge fights, huge blowouts over something stupid, and he would leave. Often after a physical fight. Other times, I would grab him, pull him, crying and sobbing. Hanging onto his arm, his sweatshirt as he headed down the stairs. I would sit at the top of them, tears streaming down my face, screaming for him to come back. That we shouldn't leave like this. That we should work things out. That we shouldn't have fights like this. That he promised he wouldn't leave me during a fight anymore.

I would scream his name, sobs in my throat, even after the apartment door was closed. Futile efforts. For what seemed like a futile relationship.

Some days, most days, he would text me saying he had to work late. Late meant, not 5, not 6, but 11 or even 1am.

I am not stupid. I knew he was not working. But it was so much easier to live in the easy ignorance. The ignorance that is really knowledge, but fear of having to deal with it. Of having my marriage end at the age of 22.

I would spend hours making elaborate, beautiful, delicious dinners. I would spend money from our dwindling bank account to buy the ingredients. I would wait for him until 8 or 9pm before I would eat myself. And then his portion would sit on the stove, in the cold stove, in the microwave, in the fridge, until he got home. I would eat these meals of chicken and mashed potatoes and bread by myself in front of the TV.

I would go to bed at 12am. I would go to bed at 1am, by myself. Three nights a week. Sometimes more. At first, it was hard. It was so hard. I could barely sleep. I had so much anxiety. My stomach was in knots.

But after awhile though, I got used to going to bed by myself. I got used to turning off the lights (it didn't make it any less scarier), got used to climbing into bed. I got used to tucking myself in, and used to calling him incessantly, hoping, daring him to answer. I got used to praying myself to sleep.

I often woke up at 3 in the morning to pee, and would hear a key turning in the lock. He would make his way upstairs. Always with a different excuse.

I tried so many things. Ignoring him, ignoring his apologies. Slapping him straight across the face. Hard. Breaking down into more waterfalls.

Nothing changed. I thought it would. I thought whatever he was doing, whatever he wasn't doing - if there was a remote possibility he was at work - he would see my pain and my anger and my sadness and my complete loss of anything close to respect and happiness and he would change it. He would do something to make it right.

He didn't.

Expectations

They seem to be on everyone's mind lately. It's interesting - how I was all ready to write about them, yet The Junkys Wife seems to have beat me to it. It's funny how sometimes we, and others, seem to go through almost the same things at very similar times.

It seems Chris lied to me. About money. How surprising. Heaven forbid I start to trust him. Or get expectations. That is exactly what has happened.

Things were going so well. But I had to be my normal self, checking up on him, checking on the bank records.

To start with, I asked to see his check stubs. I want to see just how much he is bringing in so we can start to pay off his long, monstrous credit card debts. Yet, debt with an S. I'm sure you all know what I mean.

He said he doesn't know where it is. He said it is in his car somewhere, but he's not sure where. He has to find it, however, because his PO needs to see it tomorrow. Well, he didn't find it. I asked if he took any money out of his last check instead of simply depositing the whole thing. No, he stated, he put the entire thing in.

Perhaps some would call it spying. Some would call it snooping. I call it being smart. Being wise after being screwed over.

He took money out of his last check and even more out of the check before that. I was so angry. I felt so betrayed. My sister has just been over and we had just been talking about how good he was doing, and how I needed to give him little things so he could continue to show me that he was being trustworthy. And then that.

The fight was horrible. He said sorry, but that really meant nothing. It doesn't take back the fact that he took money without even discussing it, and the worst part is he lied right to my face. I didn't even have one little clue, after all these months of lies, that he was lying right to me.

The apology meant nothing. It usually doesn't. I was hurt. I left. I went to my friend's.

To get to my point, I started to ponder my expectations. Are they too high? Am I setting myself up, and everyone around me, to fail? I realized that Chris isn't the only one that I have expectations for. I put them on everyone.

It's inevitable that at some point someone will let me down. At some point, Chris will let me down.

But then how do I not have expectations at all? It's a tricky place. It's so hard, impossible I think!, not to have expectations. At some point, one will come up. Without expectations, wouldn't it be to simply not care?

And shouldn't I have expectations for my recovering crack addict? Without them, he cannot strive to get what we do not have. Without the expectations, he cannot possibly earn my trust. Shouldn't he have expectations put on him?

I think I need to have them for him so that I know that he will one day live up to them. And I really don't think that being honest about money or checks or any of that is that hard of an expectation to live up to.

Of course, I feel like I could say much more on this, but I am dreadfully tired. I don't really know what the answer is. I don't know how to not have expectations, and I don't know how to not be saddened when Chris does not live up to them. I'm stuck.

Clinging to the past

I talked to that other lover tonight. M will be the initial I shall use. M updated me on life, on family, on relationships. And I found out M is completely and entirely over me, even with some regrets concerning me.

This made me realize so much how I have been clinging to the past. How I have been wishing that I had chosen M, how I have been living in sadness in regards to the life I chose with Chris. M told me that there are never thoughts about it anymore and that I made the best decision. For M, at least.

That broke my heart. I don't want to be the only one wondering. But I realized that, like I said, I have been clinging to the past. It's time to let go. M does not want me. And why should that be bad? I should be happy that M has someone who brings happiness.

I am happy sometimes. And I can't go back. I can't get M back. And even if I could, M does not want me. I need to move on. I need to let go. I need to let go of Chris' crack addiction. I need to be happy.

And I can't start being happy until I let go.

Background #1

Today, surprisingly, I have nothing new to write about. So I am going to take this time to give you a little background on me and Chris.

I am sure the majority of the information that is important is the time when he was doing, and addicted, and I found out about the crack cocaine. But I feel that the entire story of us is important. Don't worry - I will not bore you with the boring details, or information I do not wish to share.

Chris and I met junior year of high school. I was 16. He was 17. He was the new guy at school, and beautiful. Lots of girls wanted him. He was the "bad boy." Long hair, baggy clothes, tall. In short, the druggie. That was so appealing to me because I was this good girl. I had a thing for bad boys.

Through a series of events, we started dating. It was a tumultuous relationship, sort of like now. The trust went out the window soon after we started dating, which should have been a huge sign.

He got into trouble with the law (shocker) for drugs (another shocker). He lied about it, at least I think he did, and never came clean. It was one incident after another, but I was crazy about him. He sparked something inside me. I didn't think I would feel that way about anyone ever again.

We graduated high school and I went off to a two-year community college while he went to tech school. Near the end of this time, he got a job in a factory, putting in long hours on second shift. He only had one day free to see me.

I had just started attending a 4-year university. My time was limited as well. I attended day and night classes, and worked. I was twenty.

After a couple weeks of falling asleep during movies, and being late to come over because he was sleeping, I had come to the end of my rope. One particular Sunday, he was invited over to have dinner with my family. It was a big thing to me - Sunday dinner always was, and this was even bigger because my sister's boyfriend was invited too. The time came and went with no call from him.

Two hours after dinner, he called, sounding like he had just woken up. Needless to say, I was livid. I gave him two weeks to come to his senses. We were on a break.

After two weeks, we broke up. We were broken up for 8 months, during which time I pursued another interest and generally had a good time. However, I missed him; I cried; it was hard.

After those 8 months, and repeated attempts at contacting me, we hung out one night. We hung out for awhile after that, and then got back together. I saw a definite change in him. He cared more. He was over a lot. He was like a new person.

Three months after we got back together, he proposed.

I am going to take a break in the story now. After this, the details became busy. The lies become more frequent. And my energy isn't up for it this morning, at least not yet.

Nar-Anon/Al-Anon

This is something I very much would like to try. I would love to know I have the support of other people going through the same thing, in my own area. I have looked into it - I did a long time ago actually. However, the closest Nar-Anon meeting is in the city - not a close drive - and not in a very safe part of the city at that.

Perhaps one day I will take my friend, whose boyfriend has addict problems as well, to a meeting.

As for Al-Anon, I have not looked into that because everything I have read about it states that it is for those who are close with someone who is an alcoholic. Not a crack addict. But maybe I will give that a chance.

I did go to a couple meetings at my church. Apparently it's a national (maybe world-wide?) group, like Nar-Anon, yet sadly at this moment I can't remember what it was called. Either way, it was decent, but it was incredibly small.

I was the only one who was there for a loved one - not for them being an addict. The structure was not laid out in a typical manner because it was a Christian organization. But talking to Chris, it seems like the same thing just different methods. Just different higher powers.

I was not that fond of it. I can read the Bible at home. Also, when you wanted to talk about things going on, or feelings you were having, there seemed to be a time table to stick to. You couldn't talk for long periods of time because you had to follow the structure of the program. It seems to me though, that if I was going there, I wanted to talk. I wanted to vent; I wanted to listen to other people as well. And that time was limited.

I would like to get involved with some kind of support meeting. It is just a matter of finding one that is close, makes sense, and gives me something out of it.

Breaking the rules

We went out with friend last night. We went to a comedy club in the city. Oh, how I love the city. I call it the city because it is way more massive than the suburb I live in. I love the people going about their business, so many people, so many things to watch! I love everything about it. I love the energy and I love how it is never dead.

So Chris broke all the rules of probation last night. Okay, not quite all of them. But we did go to two bars, where he hesitantly drank 4? bottles of beer. Not much, but still. He then proceeded to smoke quite a few cigarettes, something he proclaims that he does not do "normally." We then all squeezed into a Chevy Cavalier, 5 of us that is, and proceeded to drive further into the city, everyone but me having no license. And I don't mean, "Whoops! They forgot it!" I mean, they literally do not HAVE a license. Chris technically does, but any contact with police, especially after those beers, would be trouble.

So how many rules were broken? I count three, and my own personal rule #4. I hate smoking. Don't smoke. And he did.

So I really don't know how I feel about these rule breakings. I made him come with me to the bar. And I'm sure I totally made him drink by telling him it was okay; his probation officer meeting isn't for two weeks. And I don't see the problem, really. It's not like we were shooting heroin or smoking crack. It was a couple beers, and I don't care. But should I be enforcing, enabling, agreeing, with this behavior? Should I say it's okay to drink when in reality he should not be drinking for the next 18 months?

I'm sure this all comes back to my own personal vendetta against the PO. "She doesn't own me. She can't run my life. I'll go to a fricken bar if I want to go to one!" So I do. And I make Chris go with. And I make him drink. And I think he should be able to. I mean, how fun is it to leave your husband at home when you're going out?

So should I be promoting and encouraging this lying behavior? Am I feeding the flames? Or should I enforce the strict rules of the PO?

Am I reading into this, digging too deep, making more out of it than it is?

Secrets

I guess the popular topic of the past few days for me has been friends.

One of my best friends, someone I have discussed before -Amber - , has decided to share some of my life to our mutual friends. I was pretty upset about this last night, but I have since calmed down a little.

We went to high school together and hang out with a group of guys. We are all friends, but I only see the guys once every two months or so, if that. She told me last night that she told them about Chris. I am not sure how much detail she went into but they now know that he was "in trouble with the law" regarding "drugs." I know this is vague, but it did upset me.

Amber said it's a good thing for people to know. But isn't that up to my discretion? I have always known that she is a very poor secret keeper, but I trusted her with one of the biggest and most important events thus far in my life. It hurt me because I would like to be the one to choose who knows about this.

I realize they are my friends as well, but it was hard enough telling her, telling anyone! for that matter, and it should be up to me who knows about this. It is embarrassing to me. I know it is not my fault, but it is embarrassing nonetheless.

I am trying to protect Chris partly, but mostly, I am trying to establish that I told her so many times not to tell anyone about my husband being a crack addict. I told her to keep it between us. I told her it was private.

It's so hard to know who to trust in life, and perhaps that is my issue all along. That is why I don't tell people stuff, I know that. But I chose to tell her. However stupid that may be. And I trusted her to keep it between us.

Apparently, no one these days views privacy, friendships, and respect the way I do.

Sharing

It's interesting. My previous post, "Back Story", came up quite a bit for me last night and this morning already, and it's only 8:30am!

Chris and I sat down last night, before bed, and hooked up the Ethernet cable at our new place. I wanted to come to my blog, so the computer slowly, (oh, so slowly!) took me there. Chris looked over at saw.

"Married to an Addict," he said. So matter-of-factly. I felt a mix of emotion. The kind where I so desperately wanted to show him, which brought up a whole 'nother bag of issues to deal with later, and the kind where I wanted to keep it to myself.

He read some of the title entries on the "posts" page. I read him The Junkys Wife Nicole Richie entry. I felt it fit perfectly for him - being a crazy crackhead and all.

He said I should read one I wrote, so I read one - a safe one of course.

It was the after feeling I completely hated. I wished so much that I hadn't read it to him. I wished that it was just mine. That is another issue with me. I hate sharing. That probably explains why I am so secretive, but I hate sharing anything in my life that I view as mine.

I don't mean crackers or a candy bar or money. I mean, if I view something as valuable to me, close to my heart, something personal and wonderful and only something I can understand, I do not want to share it. I feel like a little piece of me dies. Like a little piece of me is taken away when I share something, when I give up something.

I instantly regretted it. This something was mine. It was mine to share my life, to vent about the very man I was reading a post to. He would never understand its meaning to me. Even I don't fully understand its meaning to me!

Chris had known that I had a blog. He knew it was about him, our life, his addiction. And he didn't seem mad. He wasn't mad.

Maybe my problem with sharing comes from the fact that if I share, I let someone in. And if I let someone in, I have to deal with possibility of being hurt.

Too early in the morning for this.

PO Last Night

I told you I would update you on the PO meeting yesterday. Well, there is nothing to update. She couldn't find our house apparently, and Chris doesn't answer numbers that are restricted or unrecognized. So he didn't answer her call. He did call back and she returned his call later on that night, and their next meeting is scheduled for July 18th. I'm hoping that since it is so far away, she doesn't suspect him of doing drugs or at least doesn't seem him as one of her problem "clients".

So there is nothing really to report on that front. That's probably a good thing, thought I had gotten myself all mentally prepared to meet her to no avail. Oh well. Some other time.

She said she hasn't checked yet on the results of his mailed in drug test. Weird, right? I'm not quite sure why she hasn't looked. I'll assume all is well.

Work is calling!