If you haven't read the first part of this series, you can find it here. I often reflect on this day. I remember every detail. I remember telling my husband that this day is forever seared into my memory the same way the day my dad died is embedded, even the tiniest detail. I remember the day my dad died being gorgeous with the sun shining, no clouds to hide it. I can still feel the warmth on my face as I walked to church that day. It felt almost surreal as if I existed in some alternate universe where the Earth remained in the same state Adam and Eve were born into. Then, the news: My dad died the night before. The day my husband confessed his indiscretions follows the same pattern. Beautiful day, peaceful day, happy day. Until...
As I sat across from my dear husband, I thought about all we’d done together in our short, four-year marriage. Memories of our whirlwind romance tap danced atop my brain at a furious pace. It was a wonderful time in my life when I felt certain of my future. I felt at ease, peaceful. I knew I loved him the first time he took me out. He was honest, witty, intriguing and his moral standing was high. He had a sense of integrity, was a hard worker and a man’s man who knew how to fix cars and build houses. He had me.
As I sat across from my dear husband, I thought about all we’d done together in our short, four-year marriage. Memories of our whirlwind romance tap danced atop my brain at a furious pace. It was a wonderful time in my life when I felt certain of my future. I felt at ease, peaceful. I knew I loved him the first time he took me out. He was honest, witty, intriguing and his moral standing was high. He had a sense of integrity, was a hard worker and a man’s man who knew how to fix cars and build houses. He had me.
We’d dated for nine months when we decided we wanted to be life-long partners. Shortly after we proclaimed our devotion to each other, we were pregnant with our daughter. Two months after her birth we married and moved into a new home. A new baby and our first home. Joy.
“You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” he hesitated as he glanced down at the paper in his hands.
I remained silent, eager, yet worried to hear his words. My hands twisted together in my lap as they find themselves while in a state of uncertainty and strain. I nodded, urging his confession and waited for him to speak. His bright, blue eyes held a sense of apprehension, possibly despair.
His mouth opened, closed for a moment and opened again like a surprised fish realizing it’s been caught by a determined fisherman. Finally the words spilled out. “I’ve been doing drugs,” he shamefully admitted.
I continued to sit and stare, hands tightly folded in my lap, twisting and turning. Eyes closed, I attempted to conjure a response, but words became unrecognizable, terror-filled emotions as I ingested his words. After a momentary silence I simply asked, “What?” The answer was clear, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“Meth,” he replied, his voice quiet and reluctant.
Immediately, I panicked the inward way people do when someone gives them bad news. The brain just shuts down then fires back up 1,000 times in two seconds. Anger turns into tears, which turn into nervous grins, but it’s not visible on the bad news recipient’s face. When people receive unexpected news, they feel like flailing their arms around as though they’re trying to manage an imaginary beach ball floating through the air. I was beach balling. Fast. The proverbial shit had not only hit, but destroyed the fucking fan.
Of all the things I thought he’d say, the man I devoted my life to telling me he was abusing crystal fucking meth, was not even on the short list of possibilities. While I wasn’t expecting this treachery, I suppose I should have known this day would come. Everyone lies, especially addicts.
Addicts can be clean for years and one day, BAM! They relapse with little indication. I knew my husband used drugs in his late teen years, but he never indicated it was ever a real problem. Certainly he never told me, “I was addicted to meth,” during our time together. He made it seem he’d recreationally used drugs at a time in his life when many others do the same. Many people experiment and make mistakes in young adulthood. It’s an accepted part of life. Because I knew him as an honest man, I never questioned his story about past drug use. I simply accepted it and moved on.
Thank you. I'm sure this is not an easy task.
ReplyDeleteYour writing makes things so vivid, like I am sitting there with you while you tell the story. Thank you for sharing what so many people try to hide.
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