I got a text message from R. a few hours ago saying he’s got a treatment plan for detox.
He says it is a 5 day stay. Inpatient. But the dates don’t correlate to any calendar month in the future or past. They simply don’t exist, as he stated they were SUNDAY 4/20/22- THURSDAY 4/25/22.
April 20th was last Wednesday.
So this is probably just a lie to keep me dangling in case he feels like having me around when he’s sober.
He did not send an answer to my reply.
Probably because he’s using methamphetamine.
That’s why the message made no sense and why he didn’t answer. Basically the message was to let me know he is still using, and is making up rehab dates to buy time. He wants to buy time to keep using meth while keeping his fishing line in the water on MY pond.
The alarming truth is that once an addict loses a job, it’s downhill from there.
He’s not really even considering getting help because the absolutely staggering statistics overwhelmingly state that only a very small percentage of people survive meth addiction past 5-7 years of use. I’m certain Roger’s heart has been damaged already and I’m certain he won’t live past 70 and will die very, very sick.
The statistics currently on record are for people aged 16-50 years. Advanced age meth users? There aren’t enough to even study, but if it does insane damage to a young healthy body, what will it do to a 68 year old one?
I was reading about how you get so weak that you move slowly and unsteadily. You become less and less strong so your body struggles to do tasks that are second nature for a healthy person. I stared in disbelief as I watched R struggle to open a car door and to remain steady on his feet the last time I saw him. It is WREAKING destruction on him and I can’t do anything but panic.
He’s absolutely killing himself before my eyes.
He has given up and is stuck in the hopeless cycle of addiction and what he fails to realize is that he has had me on the back burner for so long that I forgot what it feels like to be loved and respected and cared for by him. He doesn’t even want to see me or have the desire or ability to spend time with me yet he sends me texts meant to give me hope.
If he’s still using, then guess who else is around?
Yup. Icky Vickie. She ain’t gone nowhere and still lives in his pumpkin shell and I still have zero place or value. And she surely still wants to hurt me and he’s surely still willing to gamble with my safety.
Just thinking of everything he has done sexually with her and with his wife makes me sick inside my heart and stomach. To think of him holding both of them in his arms but never me makes a fire burn in my soul and it’s white hot anger….anger at being last or worse, having no place at all.
He won’t ever be faithful to me and that’s all I will accept from any man. Sounds kinda hypocritical coming from an adulteress, but I never wanted anyone but Roger and I would have remained faithful out of pure adoration if he would have given me the same courtesy.
I’m nobody’s lover.
I’m nobody’s baby.
I’m all alone with a pocketful of broken promises and false hopes and dreams. I’m all alone with the acrid taste of continued betrayal burning the back of my throat and it’s literally eating me alive. I have gone from pants size 22 to size 16/18 in eight months.
I’m dying, too.
My husband isn’t an option for me. Unlike R, I meant it when I said I didn’t want my husband sexually. He was happy to fall back on his marriage when his wife started putting out. It DIDN’T matter that she didn’t for 30 years. HE said “too little too late” and then fucked the hell out of that old bag. He lied about that, too.
But I’m gonna get on my hands and knees and crawl my fucking way through this tunnel of shit that’s before me. I’m gonna find my way to the other end where the light is and ain’t nobody gonna feed me a line of bullshit while I’m struggling to reach it.
If you ain’t gonna be in the lead, guiding me towards safety then that means you’re behind me, trying to drag me backwards to where I will suffocate trying to save you.
An obscure treatment plan outlined in a text is not a sincere attempt at recovery. It’s just a way to keep putting me at risk and to keep holding on to two toxic bitches that can make a sport out of threatening me cuz they suck your dick and let you stick it to ’em.
They are weak and mean and full of hatred. Hell, evil is a better word. I don’t deserve their blame.
The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was take this stance and how has it affected him? He’s still playing games with me, living in some world where he gets to dampen the pain with drugs that I cannot compete with.
I, on the other hand, get to suffer every single awful feeling completely sober and alone. I have nothing to numb the pain but my anger, and that’s fading fast.
I answered him and got no response. Why? Because I’m not important enough to interfere with whatever it is he’s doing or more like whoever it is he’s trying to make happy. He’s still immune to my pain. He’s busy right now and he didn’t really want to have to talk or interact with me, nope, he just wanted to spend 30 seconds firing off a text he didn’t intend to answer.
After 15 years, I barely occupy any space in his mind. On a rainy Sunday afternoon, I am just an afterthought that popped up on his faulty radar.
I’m well aware,
That I still don’t matter
And he’s almost out of time.