I didn’t have much first hand knowledge about addicts until I dated all 6’4”, 250lbs of an ex pro athlete of one.
The moment I saw his face I knew that trouble was in store for me. He was captivating and magnetic. The moment he hugged me I disappeared from the world into a galaxy of his demons. He had deep, dark, sparkling eyes with a dimpled smile that melted my soul.
His wit was unmatched but by me at my best and our banter was entertaining to some, but especially us.
His words slipped off his tongue with grace and cut through my strongest resistance like blades on fresh ice. He was more intelligent than any man I had ever met and gave me a real run for my money in matters of debate, and my heart.
I believed in him with a ferocity that I am certain came only a close second to his mother.
His crazy, messed up, tragic story was exactly the kind of circumstance I was drawn to. He had all the credentials of someone who needed fixing and I had a deep need to fix people.
Sunrises were met with a swig from a 26er of Vodka before even sitting up out of bed, chased by some orange juice if available, followed by a dab of chew for his nicotine fix and possibly some pain pills depending on how his worn down body felt that day. Once he was buzzed enough to function we’d have mind blowing sex that I craved more of the instant it ended, he was my buzz. We would waste the rest of the day hanging out on the couch watching movies or reflecting on photos from his past until his eyes would glaze over and I knew he was gone for the day, so then I’d regretfully head home only to hear from him, wasted, mid afternoon.
I knew that when I stayed he took it a bit easier on the bottle but as soon as he was alone he went off the deep end of self pity and would wallow in the shame of the complete downfall of his once promising life and the vodka stood no chance.
I didn’t understand sex as an addiction until the night alcohol, drugs and nicotine wouldn’t cut it for him when I started to lean in on the deep questions I so badly craved the answers to. I was so enthralled in his depths, anything to avoid visiting my own deep, unhealed wounds. Searching for an escape from the pain, he knew the only way to shut me up was to over power me with the electric passion we so obviously shared that I couldn’t quite grasp and yet failed miserably at releasing, I stood no chance.
There was no denying, I was addicted to the addict.
I let unanswered and unreturned phone calls and messages slide the moment I’d hear his voice or see his face unannounced at my front door. I let cold, lonely dinners he had forgotten about go to waste without repercussion because clearly, as he often explained, his memory lapse was a result of all his sports induced concussions and prior drug use.
The first time we ended things I thought a part of me might die, it was hard to breathe, the wind was gone from my sails. If I didn’t have him to believe in, to cheer on, to save with all the power vested in me, then who was I anymore?
I spent days begging him to forgive me, even after all he had done, I was the one crawling back. I needed him to need me.
My questioning of his integrity brought on retaliations I haven’t known since my teen years. Hanging up the phone mid sentence instead of talking it out, and still I obliged him the next time he would come back around. I fell for all of his lies the second I was penetrated by his dark blazing eyes.
I was addicted and I was consumed in his darkness, just trying to be the light. He would demand I stop trying to save him and yet still with all my power I’d fight.
This addiction, for me, was two fold.
I was addicted to the thrill of his badassery, his ability to give no fucks and I was addicted to my own need to save him. Despite his many requests for me not to do so.
He would show up at my house and although I could tell he had been drinking I would still get in the car with him because I believed I knew his threshold and I trusted that I was safe.
Once again I was the sole, voluntary participant in my own personal sabotage.
I was risking my life for what I thought was love but in hindsight I can see that the only person I needed to save was me.
I didn’t know it then but my extreme lack of self worth allowed me to forfeit all of the good in myself and my life so I could snugly fit into a life that was the antitheses to all I valued, believed in and wanted.
Only minutes into our first conversation he had broken all of my deal breakers and still there I was falling hard for someone who was already 3/4 of the way to rock bottom.
I thought I was being a martyr for love, I thought disregarding all of my truths in exchange for all of his lies was romantic and beautiful. I thought if he saw all that I had sacrificed and offered him, that he could heal and in turn love me for being the catalyst to his recovery.
But the truth is, it wasn’t beautiful, or romantic or real even. It was tragic, depressing and damaging.
Loving someone is also calling them on their shit when their shit is out of alignment and believe me I did. But none of that mattered when I would continue to accept and allow his behaviour in my life. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I was an enabler and whether he knew it or not, he was mine.
These moments; however, are instrumental to our growth, although damaging at best and dangerous to say the least. If we survive and we overcome that which at one point looked a lot like a slow ride to suicide, we have the opportunity to reflect and rejoice when we come out on the other side.
In that time period he needed someone like me to show him that life mattered, that he could go another day, that good people still existed and although I was not successful in helping him release his addiction, that was not my job. My job was to be the light and that I was. His job for me was to open my heart a little more, to shake me and wake me up. Now I can look back and see that what I experienced, although on some level was fueled by love as that is who I am, was also driven by a deep longing to be needed, to be loved and wanted, because I had not yet accepted myself, and still wouldn’t until many years later.
I saw his desperation as a way to fill voids in myself that I had yet to learn only I could do, in a healthy way anyways.
As I reflect on all the evidence of a damaged self image, low self esteem and self worth and a very deep need for self love, I am thankful for the moments and the people who had a role in my falling apart because without them I would not know which pieces I needed to leave out when I put myself back together.♥