He called and asked me to bring him a pair of shorts, his sketch pad, a soda, and something to eat. He made a big deal about how I shouldn't look in the shorts or the sketch pad because there was a wonderful secret surprise that would be spoiled if I looked. I was skeptical. "Would I be pissed off if I knew what it was?" And he responded, "No. It's really good, and you'll be excited tonight when you see."
I told him that I wasn't sure, and that if there was something that I wouldn't like, he shouldn't ask me to bring it for him. He assured me that it was all okay, and so I agreed.
I couldn't find the shorts, and I had to dig around in his drawer to find them. They were buried underneath some T-shirts, and when I found them, I saw the top of a spoon sticking out of the pocket. I pulled it out, and it was burned on the bottom. Also, there was a plastic wrapper from a syringe and a bloody paper towel.
He was upset that I looked in the shorts. For a moment, I felt guilty, and then I realized that there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to look in his shorts. It's not as if he had bought something that he would have hidden there. He has no money. There's no great surprise...no special thing. No diamond ring.
And how dare he attack my honesty? I'm not the liar here.
And why ask me to bring it to him?
He must know that transporting class-A narcotic paraphernalia counts as a thing that I wouldn't want to do.
I want this shit out of my life. I don't want to fear his death, fear he's going to steal from me, feel a constant need to separate myself from him because I'm afraid of the consequences of being too close.
As soon as it seems like things are going to be okay, there is always this shit. Last night was nice. I built him a website for his artwork. He cleaned the kitchen. We enjoyed each other.
And then today, this...
"Why?" I kept asking him last night. "Why would you do it? You were doing so well. Why?"
All he can say is that it's because he's weak. He had a moment of weakness. I kept asking him to explain it to me. What made him think it was okay? What was the process? How long did it take?
All he would say is that his friend asked him if he wanted to use, and he said yes, and then they got the drugs.
Also, I am furious because when I came home that night, he tried to have sex with me. We have seen from months of his opiate addiction that he cannot perform sexually when he has been using. I have no idea why he would try, and it frustrated me so much. I started falling back into the old head games: "He's not attracted to me. Why can't I make this work?"
Blah blah blah.
It reminded me of this woman's story of her son using. She said he spent Easter with her, and he had told her that he had a flu. He spent all his time on the couch dozing. She was worried about his flu, cooking chicken soup for him, nursing him, but she was also afraid he might be contagious because she took care of her elderly mother who had a weak immune system. She fretted and worried about whether or not she was going to get her mother sick, and she was worried about her son and what might be wrong with him. She eventually realized, however, that he was detoxing. He wasn't sick at all, and she'd done all this worrying about her mother for no reason.
I don't understand any of his behavior. I don't understand why he would use, and I don't understand why once he did, he'd try to have sex with me. More than anything, I don't understand why he would try to get me to transport his paraphernalia for him. I don't understand his fits of rage and his continued victim mentality. I don't understand why he is doing anything.
I am so very angry. I don't really want to go home to him. I don't want to go home and not have him there, either. It drives me nuts -- this up and down and back and forth with my feelings. Whenever I start to think things are okay, they always go downhill.