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It Can Be Done
I married a heroin addict, with the silly belief that I could
help him. I was a child. 18 years old, with romance and dreams
and love in my heart. My husband was quite a bit older. He was
30. I tried to help him. I accompanied him to 12 step meetings.
I gave him all of the support that I "knew how" to give. He lied.
Snuck around. Did all of the things that addicts typically do.
I continued to try to love him. I even took him to a hypnotist.
In the end, though, I became addicted to heroin.
I COULD say that he
took me down with him.
I COULD blame him.
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can't even get you a nice Christmas present, anymore. You're
just going to pawn it, anyway |
But, we all know that
what I did was my decision, and the consequences that I eventually
had to face were only MY FAULT. There is no point in telling you
the day to day details. If you have been there, you already know.
You know the lifestyle. The risks. The lies. The desperation.
The way that you have to plan your entire life around your habit.
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The way that it hurts the ones that you love as they slowly realize
that they can't trust you or believe in you, and, ultimately-
can't help you anymore. They can't even get you a nice Christmas
present, anymore. You're just going to pawn it, anyway.
That's
the way it was for me, anyway. I did no magic for my husband.
In spite of my growing addiction, which began when I was 21- for
a while, I did O.K. I stayed legally married to my husband. We
didn't live together much, though, but we were partners in crime.
We could tell in a heartbeat when we both wanted to score without
saying a word. It was very sick.
I
worked as a bartender. I made a lot of money. I was funny. I was
pretty. I kept raking in the cash. Sometimes, I would do a drug
deal if I thought it would bring me some really quick profit.
Come to think of it, I did A LOT of drug deals. Life was a party.
Drugs. Sex. It was unreal. Totally unreal.
Eventually...»»
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