Backwards

I thought I would start writing this from the beginning of my story, but it may be starting towards the ending.  I don’t know that it is the ending, but it is feeling like it is.

He has been on a 2 week binge.  Pills, alcohol, marijuana…anything he can get his hands on.  The binges come and go.  They always play out the same way.  He stays high and drunk, mostly unavailable.  This is his sole priority during this time..seeking the next high, the next bottle.  He is either passed out or awake looking for a way to find what his body is craving.

I wait for a text message or a missed call or to see that my text to him has been read.  Waiting to see if he is still alive.  When I haven’t heard, I go to his apartment, with my heart racing,  my stomach in my throat, wondering, what I’m going to find when I open his front door.  Will he still be breathing?  Will this be the day I find his life has been taken?

It has become a way of life for me and it is a life that has me mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted.  I know I can’t keep up with it anymore, but if I don’t care about him, who will?  He has no one else.  I am the only one.

For a long time, I was one of those girls, who thought I could help him.  That hoped and prayed each time that this would be the last time.  That this time, he would get it.  That he would not go back.  That he would keep moving forward in his sobriety.  That he would want this for himself, as much as I wanted it for him.

So, today, yesterday, the day before even, we are at the part where he has no more money.  His paychecks are gone.  There is no savings to draw from and he is scrambling.  Scrambling for his jobs, a way to pay this months rent, a way to get his life back.  He is in withdrawals and detoxing from pills and alcohol.  He shakes so bad he can’t even take a drink of the powerade I brought to him yesterday.  I bought him groceries and a pack of cigarettes.  I’m trying to love him as Jesus would.  The pain and hurt in his eyes is unmistakeable.

But I know I can’t help him.  He is the only one who can stop.  I tell him this over and over again.  I beat him up verbally over and over again, but the addict doesn’t care.  He doesn’t even hear me.  Now he just needs me to be present.  Not judging him, not berating or belittling him.  Just to be there.  So, I went this morning and i layed on the couch with him, in a darkened, lonely apartment.  I lay there and I put my hand in his.  I feel the heat from the fever that is brewing in his body, I feel the sweat that is pouring from his skin, I feel the shaking and jerks from his tremors. I don’t say anything.  I’m just there.  Hoping my peace, my strength will permeate into his body.  That he knows, he is not alone.  That he knows, he can do this.  That he knows, there is hope and life on the other side of this. That he knows, he is loved.

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