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.

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.

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!

Paris Hilton

Yes, I know. Against my better judgment, and perhaps against all sound mind, I watched her last night on Larry King Live.

I have mixed feelings about the entire situation with Ms. Hilton. She is fascinating to me, but then again, most celebrities are. And I am quite fed up about the news coverage she received while her sentencing and jail time went on. But my mixed feelings come in to play about her jail situation.

There are the two sides of course - the crime did not fit the punishment, and vice versa. And I went back and forth on them. I still haven't fully made up my mind, as if I think about this all day. But the thing that was interesting was listening to her.

She talked about how this was such a traumatic experience and that she learned and grew and found herself in the midst of all of it. For awhile, I could believe her. I am sure for anyone it would be hard, but can you imagine the lifestyle she is accustomed to? Most people know nothing of it. All that glamour, all the money you can spend - it's impossible to fathom!

And then being ripped from that and put in a jail cell. I am sure it was quite hard. I know it would be for me and I am not even close to the amount of wealth she is.

But it's 3 weeks. 3 weeks. It really is not that long. And yes, that doesn't make it any more fun, but people spend years upon years locked up. And I got annoyed.

Then she talked about how she just considered herself a normal person. How she was just a normal girl. She talked about how she just learned so much, going through this. And that is when my bitterness poked out its ugly head.

Seriously now, Paris. You are not normal. You are so not normal. You live in a fricken' castle. And learning so much? What will you change now? I highly doubt anything.

I wanted her to walk in my shoes. To walk in my crack addict's wife too-big shoes. To walk in The Junkys Wife shoes. To walk in MPJ's shoes. To walk in anyone's shoes that has been living and loving an addict.

But that is life. That is how the cookie crumbles. She was handed her life on a platinum platter. And who knows what she has been through. Those sex tapes surfacing may have scarred her for life. Who knows.

We Will See

The PO is coming today for a house visit. Part of me wants to be there to meet this lady who is going to be running my life for the next 18 months, and the other part wants nothing to do with her. With my luck, I will think she will be gone by the time I get home, and she won't have even arrived yet.

It will be interesting to see what she does. I was talking to my dad about this yesterday - about how some of these people get on massive power trips. She already said to us that "she guesses" she will "let" us move because of our "situation." And what situation would that be, lady?

Power trips are never a good thing in authorities of the law. My dad, and come to think of it, my mom, threw in then how I was a social worker and might get on a power trip of my own one day. Maybe. The fact is that I hate that I have to change my lifestyle for Chris now. My parents constantly remind me that I married him. That it is what I have to do. In reality though, I don't have to. I can keep all the booze I want around the house. Wouldn't bode well for him, but as I read so often, "not my bucket of shit."

Somehow I am on this mindset of wanting to tell this lady that my record is crystal. That I am a good girl. Well, mostly. But everyone knows that will get us no where. Embarrassingly enough, I carted all my bottles of alcohol (not that big of a drinker!) to my parents so Chris wouldn't get in trouble. Now is that love or what?

She will be there at the end of the day today so we'll see what happens.

No, I still have not heard about Chris' strange drug test issue, but I am hoping and thinking that if it were positive, he would have certainly received a phone call unless she plans on telling him today. Don't quite know what to think about that. But, like always, we will see.

Grow up.

Why do I feel like a babysitter majority of the time? I feel like I am simply an underpaid nanny, telling the children what to do. "Brush your teeth, take a shower, take out the trash, clean the bird cage, vacuum up their poop, turn off your game, etc., etc."

All I want is someone who is a grown adult! It really is not that hard, I don't think. I just want someone, or more specifically, him!!, to act like a grown up. I really don't like having to yell at him or having to tell him how to take care of himself. I want him to do it on his own.

Perhaps it is just all the stress of moving that is causing me to want to punch him in his face. It's this Saturday and while we have a lot done, we don't really have that much done. It's hard to calculate what we need or don't need for the week. I don't want to pack stuff away and then need it five minutes later.

I am also annoyed because I don't know when we are actually getting in to our new place. Sometime before July 5th is the best I know. That sucks! I work too much to play these guessing games. I simply want to know a day, even if it is July 5th, so I can plan accordingly and know how this moving crap is going to work out.

The good thing about it is free cable and free Internet. I can finally get on the computer at home and not do it only at work!

I am hoping moving in there will be like a whole new start for us. New place, new neighbors, new location, just a new start with everything. I am hoping things will be better now. Maybe then I won't be a babysitter. I guess we'll see.

This blog entry certainly was all over the place! I am sure you get my drift. I am sick of babysitting a grown man. Get your act together. Know when to shave, when to shower, when to brush. It's a huge turn off. I should probably just stop telling him what to do and hope he realizes that he needs to grow up.

PO Side Note

Today is one of those days where I want to write all day, but I can't get my thoughts together. So I will just write that I am still alive, yes, and that I really have much to say but once I get my thoughts together I will come back. Nothing new or exciting has happened.

Same old fights about the same old things. Except, yesterday, I actually felt like his PO is in charge of and dictating my life now. For the next 18 months. And I want to agree The Junkys Wife when she says it's not my bucket of shit. But I cannot fully. Because it has become mine. And that is because I married the junkie.

I wish I had known. And really, what would I have changed?

"August to February"

It came up again last night. The fact that he worked from "August to February" while I am working now. It did not go over well. Of course. What was he thinking? So I laid into him. I just cannot take that. It angers me so much.

How dare he say that. How dare he act like what I am doing right now is anywhere near to what he is doing. And all my explaining, and my yelling gets me nowhere.

Telling him I work 50 hours a week, telling him I get one day off a week since February, does nothing. I exploded in a fit of memories. The sad thing, or maybe the good thing, is that these memories no longer pain me. They no longer hurt me, or make me cry. They are now just facts. Just moments of my life that I can no longer get back. Just facts.

The memory I happened to remind him of last night was being a young newlywed, and home every night faithfully, and cooking and cooking and cooking. I made the most deluxe, gourmet, delicious meals I could. All sorts of chicken dishes, experiments with potatoes, noodles, steak. I was truly the most perfect housewife. The classic housewife.

How many nights were there - I lost track - where I would spend hours cooking and perfecting, and he would not show up? So often. I would eat by myself, barely able to taste these delicious meals, in front of the TV.

So last night, we lay in bed, and I chastised him for ten minutes straight, telling him it was not the same. Me working my ass off? Not the same at all. I work, I am working. I am not out smoking crack. I am not getting high. I am working every minute I say I am working. And all that money I get? I bring it home. I bring it home and attempt to pay portions of bills before I even allow myself the slightest gratification of buying something for myself.

And what did he do? I'm sure he knows. But to remind him - he invested in drugs first. He invested in his physical and mental high before he realized he had no money left to pay the bills. And we were forced again to ask for help. And I went through another month of stress, wondering how in the world we would pay rent.

Sacrificing myself - telling him that sure, we could eat macaroni every day. Sure, Ramen noodles. In order to save money. And all along, we never really had to do that. All along, he was an addict.

After the fight last night, or, more accurately, I once again went on and on at him, we lay there in silence. I longed to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin under my fingers, to feel him there. But I kept myself full of pride. I didn't allow myself the satisfaction of feeling him. He was naughty. He needed to be punished.

Maybe I was the one who was punished after that outburst. He said one thing the entire time, and I don't even remember what it was. Even after I was done with my verbal assaults, he lay there in silence. I know he was awake. He went to the bathroom afterwards. I felt bad. But not bad enough.

I want him to have a taste, just a taste, of what it is like to be in my shoes. What it was like. Did he never think about his wife at home, crying? Staring out at the window at every car passing by, wondering where her husband was? No. He didn't think of that. And I want him to understand how it was for me. I want him to see, to feel, how it was in my shoes.

But he never will. Will I always be like this towards him? Because while I am no longer sad about the past, I am full of anger. Full of anger and more substantially, hate.

NA

Chris tried out a new NA meeting on Tuesday this week. Since he is now ordered to attend two a week, he tried a different one that he has never been too. He called frantic, late, looking for the church name. He only arrived two minutes late, and called to tell me that he was not going in - he was late.


I said that was stupid, drove 1/2 an hour, and get in there. He called ten minutes later and told me it sucked. He said no one came and greeted him, no one was friendly, and it was stupid. He left.

I had mixed feelings about this. He only gave it ten minutes! I said that to him, but apparently his other group was extremely friendly and greeted and included him right away.

I do not want him to be uncomfortable or feel like an outsider, but sometimes you have to tough things out at first and it will get better. Life is not always some warm cushy place. And since he has to go to two a week from now on, he is going to have to be a little more persistent in sticking with a place.

He attended another one last night. He stayed through this whole one. We only talked about it for a little but he seemed to enjoy this one more.

It's hard to have him leave two times a week now. It's hard to trust that's where he is. I'm used to him leaving or being gone so often that all trust has vanished.

Memories

I was reminded this morning of something Chris told me awhile ago. It hurts every time I think about it because of the lengths of secrecy he would go to.

He told me when we would ride together in his car, he would take out his crack pipes and leave them in the grass next to the car so that they wouldn't be in there with me. I am not sure if this was so I wouldn't be incriminated if something would happen, or so I simply would not find it. I am sure it was the latter.


He went so far with this routine, that when the ground was layered with snow, he would take out his pipes and shove them into some snow so he knew where they were but no passersby would see them. Mainly me.

I often ask him about things. Such as "Was this in our house?! Was this in my car?" I remember one night; he didn't have his car. We had just went out for dinner and he had asked me three times already if he could go to the city to get money from a friend who owed him some.

A black friend. A black friend who lived in the ghetto. Who owed him money. For some unknown reason. If this wasn't a fricken clue, I have no idea what was.

I said no. Over and over. I said "You are not taking my car to go there. $50? Not that important. Not in the night, not with my car, and not when you don't come back when you are supposed to. You don't even answer his phone." He asked again. I said, "What is the big deal about this f-ing $50??" He said that it was fine. It didn't matter; he would just go when he got his car.

Turns out he wanted to go smoke. He wanted to do crack in my car with his drug dealing friend in the city.

It is painful, and awakening to see how many more moments in our short marriage are like this. Lies from the pit of his soul - it feels like everything out of his mouth was a lie.

I could name off a bunch more right now, but emotional time is done.

Probation Beginnings

Probation has started. Maybe not officially, but it has started. He brought home the list of rules of things we can, or more specifically, can't do.

I feel like I am on some sort of punishment. "Sorry, April. The beginnings of relaxation you were feeling? Yeah, don't get too excited. You will be paying your PO for the next 18 months of your life. How much? The amount is unknown. And the supposed 'free' vacation you were taking to Florida in August - you can stop looking forward to it. All the fun things you were planning because he has a job will have to be some other time.

"Sorry, April. Because you married a crack addict, you might have to drive him to work every day due to having his license taken away. Also, because you married a crack addict, if you are having those killer cramps you get where you are incapacitated for hours on end, you cannot send him to the store with the credit card because his PO has to okay that first. And when you are driven to drink because of this inane lunacy, you can't do that either.

"We will check in on you. Your living conditions, what you live with, any alcohol. Have fun with that."

18 months without a fricken drink in my own home? That's a little excessive, don't you think? His problem wasn't alcohol. But hey. That's what I pay. That's the dues I take, grudgingly, to be with the man I love.

Bring me the drinks!

This weekend was a new and exciting one. At my work, for the most part, we are all like friends (for the most part) and a couple of us went out on Saturday night. S was invited to a random girl's birthday party and he wanted some moral support, so he invited me, Amber, and A. It was interesting. Chris was also invited, but he said he would rather not attend.

This actually made me happy. I like to go out with people that are not him. People that are fun, and people that have the power to make me laugh and I have no sort of hold or doubt over them.

S has been talking about sushi for quite some time, and this has no appeal to me, but we all headed over to this Japanese restaurant that I have never heard of. We laughed and ate until our sides split open. So much for my diet on this night. Also, alcohol is not a help in diets, but I just couldn't help myself. Bring me the drinks, please.

The random girl harassed and called many times, but S did not want to go. Mainly for that reason. So we went to two bars, both dead due to a festival going on by the lake front. We played darts, and pool, and danced and laughed and had a jolly good time.

Crazy though, that by the end of the night, I couldn't wait to get home to Chris. Not to snuggle, nothing like that, but just to be home with the man I love after a night with friends. It was a great, beautiful night. And since I came home at midnight, or shortly after, I desperately wanted to walk around the neighborhood. But as Amber pulled around my street and into my driveway, I saw that all the lights were off in our little triangled windows.

I kissed him gently when I went in, asking to go on a walk, but he said he'd been in bed for an hour already. This was surprising for a couple reasons. Firstly, I thought for sure he would wait for me to go to bed. Secondly, I know he wanted sex. I had promised him before I left that when I got home I would lay it on him.

Maybe I lucked out?

I really had no energy. I washed my face, and did all the things I do, before quietly making it back to the bedroom. When I pulled the covers down, sitting on my pillow was a condom and sex toy "tingling" gel that it is really fantastic. As I am writing now, I can't help but laugh.

Shorten the story, he did not get it. At least, not that night. But we had a lovely Sunday morning.

Court

Court was today. His lawyer has been pushing this off for months now. Months. He took forever to call. He got 18 months of probation, has to attend NA two times a week, and continue maintaining a clean lifestyle.

I just don't quite understand this. I thought the entire goal of this was to have a reduced sentence. The felonies were dropped; he was only up for two misdemeanors. And since his lawyer kept pushing it back, I, however naively, thought his sentence would not be so long. I am not retarded. 18 months of probation is great, considering.

But come on. I thought only a year, at the most. And all I really cared about, honestly, is if our vacation to Florida would be jeopardized. It's in August. We'll see.

I am not complaining. I am not. I am happy that it is not jail. I am just confused as to what the point was of waiting so long, if this all could have been started in March.

It's so frustrating to have him call and tell me this, at work, and not answer my questions in a nice, understanding way. I want information - I crave information, I always have. And he is the kind who just gets by with the important things. Don't have a fricken attitude about things that I want and need to know.

We had one of our huge blow-outs last night. The screaming kind, the kind where I threaten to leave. What was it over? I have no clue anymore. Probably something dumb. From what I can recall, there was words and actions thrown around over household chores.

I wish he would comprehend the fact that I am working my ass off and the least thing he could do, the least, is to have the house clean when I get home from work. Do the dishes. Vacuum. Mow the lawn without whining. Make the bed. Do the laundry. Just do something.

He has a job now. I understand that. We both need to chip in. He doesn't need to tell me that he happened to work for the first 7 months of our marriage and he didn't whine when I didn't. It's a lie. I worked. Part-time, but I worked. And his work? That means nothing to me anymore.

I'm not grateful for it. I'm not okay. He may have worked but I don't know how long. He went out to smoke crack. He may have gotten foolish amounts of money, but I wouldn't know. He liked to just "get by" so he could go out. So I am not appreciative. And it's not a legitimate argument because I never saw a penny. I saw us scraping by, begging help from people.

So his job? Means nothing.

Instigator

It’s strange really, how much the lifestyle of drugs surrounds you. Our downstairs neighbors in our building (3 family farmhouse) apparently are a family of pot-smokers. All of them. There are quite many who live there and for our little old-fashioned suburb this is quite interesting news to hear. In all honestly, I am sure there are others like this out there.

The father, the son, the friends – they all smoke pot. Chris seems to be coming friends with one of the sons, Tyler, who said he used to be completely messed up with prescription painkillers, etc. He said now he steers clear from all that. Interesting. I wonder what he does when his family smokes up. I wonder if he is lying.

Then there is my brother and his friends. His friend, I should say, the instigator. I used to babysit this friend, back when I was twelve and thirteen. I had great fun messing with these children. They were raised similar to me. Four of them, brothers. In a Christian home, stricter than anything, always feeling tied down.

But these brothers had it rough. They were rarely allowed to watch TV and when they did, it was carefully monitored. No PG, certainly no PG-13. And the one cable channel they were allowed to watch was the Discovery Channel.

I babysat these kids and we would spend hours playing board games. When lunch was served, I would entertain them with childish jokes and stories, hoping to corrupt their little minds with things such as "boogers" and "bloody fingers." They laughed until their little bellies jiggled.

But now the oldest brother has turned into something unfortunate. He uses prescription drugs mostly, for his own highs. And over the weekend, he passed it on to my brother, and their mutual friend. It was nothing major, nothing big, but it was still quite shocking to me.

No matter where I turn, someone in my life will have used some kind of drug to the point of trouble. Tragic, in my opinion, that it is the way life is. That innocence can be so quickly lost.

There is always an instigator though, isn't there? Someone who starts it and transfers it to someone else. It doesn't matter the age. There is always someone. Peer pressure. It's tough, even for the strongest person.

I wonder - can someone be an instigator for a good thing?

I want it and I want it now.

The first day went easier than planned. I assumed it would be miserable, smaller portions, barely eating at all. It was fine, in actuality, and that was probably because I was so excited about the end result. But the thing about me is that I am so incredibly impatient. If I want something, I will have it right then. I do not think of the consequences or reactions or anything before I do it.

If I want a tattoo, I will go do it. I will not sit and think about it for weeks, wondering if I should. I will not contemplate what I want or where I want it. For the most part, if I know what I want on my body for the rest of my life, I will go do it. And so far, that plan has worked well for me. I do not regret any of the tattoos I have, or any of the piercings.

But weight is different. I do not get to just lose weight the second I want to. I woke up this morning weighing the same as yesterday morning, which I suppose is all fine and well, but I was hoping to be at least one pound lighter. I am aware that one pound a day is probably not the most healthy way to go about losing weight, but like I said, I am incredibly impatient.

So this morning, as I headed to work and sat in my office staring at my screen, the hunger pains took over my body. Yesterday it was so much easier to fight them, but today I just couldn't do it. I had some custard in the freezer in the work kitchen, so I made my way to it, hastily I might add, and could hardly wait for it to be come soft enough to shove that plastic spoon in. In fact, I waited for about two minutes before taking a bite out of the delicious hard cream.

I only had a couple bites, and even now I do not feel guilty. If anything, I just feel mad that I did not lose one more pound. If anything, I hate how I don't fit into those skirts. I hate how skinny I used to be, and now I am still pounds away from that. It sucks. Patience is not something I possess.

I already thought about dinner tonight and how after I ate the minimum portion so as not to fill myself, Chris and I go walk around the neighborhood again. But I remembered that today is Wednesday, however strange that seems, and NA is today. Now that I am typing it, I am sure he will call me shortly, on his break from work (work!) to inquire about giving his friend a ride.

I gave myself to the end of June, at most, to reach my goal of weight loss. My extreme goal was by the end of next week, and I will still aim for that. But if that fails, I will certainly be okay with the end of June. I think. I hope. If I can manage to wait that long. I don't really have much of a choice. I guess I could simply starve myself. Or just eat and eat and eat and forget about this stupid diet thing. Absolute ludicrous. Never in a million years did I think I would be on a diet.

Then again, never in a million years did I think I would be married a crack addict.

A little more

He read the blog last night...the blog I happened to steal from The Junkys Wife's website. The blog that was from a man's point of view - the one staying that she is always yelling. Always mad. Never wanting to kiss, to hug, to make love. He read it.

I cried the first time I read it. And when I read it parts of it over last night, I cried again. His comments were what I could expect. That he was trying. That he knows I cannot just let go of it. He tried to joke saying that I need counseling, as one part in the blog states. I did not, could not, laugh. What was funny about that? No doubt I need counseling for the hell he put me through. But it is doubtful he is referring to that. I kind of took it as him saying he thinks I need counseling in general. Not a time to joke, Chris. Really.

His reaction to the blog was less than what I hoped for. But I know him, or at least I think I do, and I know his reactions and that was one I definitely saw coming.

Good news to report today though - he finally got a job. I realize since I have only started to record these happenings, you do not realize how long it has been. Months. Months that felt like years. I am enthusiastic about this, don't get me wrong. However, as I was thinking about it this morning, I realized that I am the main reason he received this job.

A co-worker of mine knows someone who knows someone at a temp agency. She told me he could definitely get Chris a job if he simply went. I told him to go. He did. He got a job. Of course, it was up to him to go, and it was up to him to present himself in a professional manner, but in reality, he did nothing but that. He didn't look for it. I am giving him a handout. In this case and in many cases, it is all through who you know. But I wish he could have done this one thing alone.

Don't get me wrong - I am happy he has a job. The money will be greatly appreciated. He is swimming in debt. I disassociate myself with this because "it isn't me." I get the lecture repeatedly about we are married, it IS me. When we want a house, or a new car, or anything that involves a credit check, it will not look good. It is just another reminder of how he screwed me over.

But at least he will start paying his bills off, right? Or I will. Access to money through me from him has become almost an impossible task - just another way for me to control his every move. Perhaps that's wrong. Perhaps that pushes him away. But he has been clean almost 90 days now, so he says. And I have had control of the money, the cards, the finances, everything - for just as long. Just another burden to add to my already aching shoulders.

I say that I would love to relinquish my control. I say that I would love to give up the control of everything. But would I? At least if something goes wrong I have no one to blame but myself. And in reality, I would hate it, I think. Trusting someone?! Practically unheard of. Especially to take care of ME? To take care of our finances? What a joke.

For now, I will be content with the fact that a job has come his way.

And I will be content that I can laugh a little more. I can giggle at his strange way of joking, the absurd things he does to make me laugh. I can relax a little more.

Bottled Up

I feel a little better today. Not that I felt too bad yesterday, but the looming implications of a license returned irked me to no end.

Today is a new day though and I will face it head on. That is how it is. I am lucky enough to have a job that I enjoy coming to work for. I am lucky that my boss has been through a situation very similar to mine and is there whenever I break down.

She sees things I don't. For example, last week, as I was crying in her office about how he had ruined everything, she said that we were both going through similar things. Hardships-wise. Her husband hated his job and wanted to quit and she felt like she had to support him. She said she had no problem doing that because she loved him and wanted to stay with him. But she said that she did not see that from me. She said I need to decide if I want to stay with him.

The thing is - I love this man. I want to stay with him. I want to work things out. But as I believe I have stated before, I cannot let go of my bitterness and anger towards him.

I had this friend. She was my best friend in the entire world. But not for the reasons that most best friends are so. She made my spirits soar - we had more fun than I have ever had in my life. When I got married though, our communication stopped. She called for my birthday - sometimes I would hear from her. But a couple months ago we talked and she asked how I was. It was shortly after the news that I was married to a crack addict came out.

I told her I was okay. That I had been tempted to call her a week or so before but thought better of it. She asked why, but all I told her was that everything was okay now.

How could I tell this girl, this girl that used to be the number one person in my life, that she had been right all along? That when she said he wasn't good enough for me she was right? How could I give her the satisfaction? And when in reality, as she would gloat to herself and pity would wash over her, all I would think was that she had no fucking clue how it was. She lived her life of parties and flirtations and simple nothings and this would be much too big.

I'm not saying she couldn't understand. She had been through hardships that I have never even dreamed of. But I don't think that anything can really compare to being yoked to someone for the rest of your life - and that someone has lied to and betrayed you beyond any recognizable point. I don't think that she would be able to understand how it would be to know that you just signed your life to someone who was addicted to crack cocaine. Her hard decisions in life were what to wear that night to a bar.

That may sound so bitchy. But it is the truth. And maybe that is all 23-year-olds should have to think about. The sad truth is though that that is what I do think about. I think about how my life has changed. How I need to decide if I want to be married to a liar.

It was nearly impossible those nights; the nights where I spent crying alone, before and after I found out the truth. It was so impossible I wanted to call her up and run to her house - a place where I could be myself and relax and be comfortable and forget about my problems. But I didn't. I stayed strong, whether that was good or bad, because I did not want to be the weak one. My own problem of pride I know.

I had no one. I had no one to turn to. And even while I write this, I cringe knowing that it is a lie. I had someone. I always did. My family is nothing but supportive. They would have been there if I just asked. But I am a strong-willed, overly prideful human being. I don't want to ask for help. I want to come across as independent, needing nothing. I am sure that is my main dilemma. I didn't turn to them until after he was arrested.

I kept it all bottled up. The late nights, the fights, the missing money, the debt we were falling into. Debt is harder to get out of then I ever thought possible.

I am working my butt off now - paying off the bills, paying for everything - while he "looks" for a job. I have more money in my account now than I ever did before, but it dwindles out as I pay the bills.

Sorry for that interspersion of debt. The fact is, because I kept it all in, I am more unhealthy than ever before.

I get mad at him for the stupidest little things. Such if life for now though. I need an emotional break.

Me

My name is April. That is my real name. I will not use a fake name for myself. But in the future, other names will be changed.

My name is April and I am married to a crack addict. I am 23-years-old. In the eyes of many, I am a baby. But I have had to face things that many people have never and will never face in their lives. I am a grown-up 23 yr. old. I have been married almost 9 months.

It is the first year of my first marriage and I am drowning in pain, in anger, and in utter confusion. I married a stranger. I married a man I had no knowledge about.

Every day is a struggle and I am someone I do not wish to be. I am consumed with anger and have no problem showing it to him at all times. As far as I am concerned, he ruined what could have been the start of a beautiful marriage. As far as I am concerned, he ruined what trust we had.

I knew that something was going on. But I am one of those women, one of those people, who hates change. Who would rather live a horrible existence than face any kind of new or unfamiliar thing. I would spend nights alone. I would wake up at 2 in the morning to him not being there. I would call and leave frantic, scared, turning to threatening messages. But it wouldn't matter. Nothing would happen. I would hear nothing back.

I was a newlywed in my own sad, scared web of lies.

He had lie after lie after lie. Saying he had to work late - saying his boss made him stay. I am not stupid. I didn't believe him. But pressing the issue was not getting me anywhere.

He would come home late and I would slap him, I would hit him as hard as I could as I was sobbing. He always apologized. Always said he was sorry, there was nothing he could do. He broke my heart over and over.

The truth only came out when he was arrested.

I am hoping this blog will help me release some of myself. I am hoping others will read this and help, share their own experiences, or get hope from mine.

I am not who I want to be. I am not the person I thought I would. I am not where I wanted to be. I am merely a supporter. I am the bread-winner. I am the provider. I am broken and I do not know how to heal.