Most of my days were spent in mental agony. I would pace back and forth, checking my phone, wondering if he was coming home or if he was even alive. There were times when he wouldn’t come home and I would find him unconscious in his truck, holding empty bottles of alcohol.
I would go to work and school, but nothing could distract my mind away from him. Is he okay? Will I see him today? Is he using right now? I didn’t know he was a heroin addict until I sat with him while he trembled and vomited from withdrawals. When he stabbed a man in the arm because they tried to rob him during a drug deal.
Dating him was like attending a circus. You never knew what to expect. Some days, he would bring me joy, filled with flowers and kisses. Other days, he would get drunk and I would find myself with a black eye or bruising; either physical bruising but mostly mental.
One night he called me sobbing, “Help me.” He repeated between huge gulps of air. I found out he had gotten drunk which led into a fist fight with his neighbor. He choked the man and bit off a chunk of his cheek. Another night, his mother contacted me in tears, “He left home and he’s living in his truck again. He got into another fight. He’s bleeding. I don’t know what to do.” I felt myself spinning and spiraling trying to grip onto my own sanity as I chased him everywhere, pulling him back up from whatever hell he landed himself into. From rehabilitation centers to sober living homes, I would continue helping him and loving him in any way I could. Just so he could see that there is happiness beyond a pill or empty bottle. But through loving him, I forgot to love myself.
Through these trials, I often would receive that one question, “Why did you stay with him?” And even until today, I have no answer.
This blog was based on a true story. Some details were modified to protect the identity of the victim(s).
Written By: Anonymous
Edited By: No edits
Volunteer Images: Anonymous