Dear Diary,
Why does it have to be so hard to get back on track and learn how to function? And why does the one person in this world that I love and want to spend my life with have to make it difficult for me to recover? Im not a consistent drug user, but every now and then I get the desire to indulge in things I shouldn't. It's already hard enough having bipolar depression and always craving a fix, but for the one person I spend all my time with to bring things around me and even directly to me, and to hide his dangerous behavior from me even when I find out and flat out ask him about it, what am I to do? The few people I reach out to always say "just leave him" "You can't recover until you leave him", and I feel like no one understands how terrible that would effect my life and my mental health. I can't just give up on him when he needs help. He wouldn't give up on me. I can't just walk away from someone that I am 100% certain is the person I can grow with. He talks about recovery. He is ashamed of his actions. But he has people that are 10 mins away that entice him and enable him. He tried to delete their number, but ended up having it memorized on accident. He's going to really hurt himself or worse by using IV drugs. A few weeks ago he tempted me to do it and I ended up getting a major infection in my blood stream which spread throughout my organs and almost caused my liver and kidneys to fail. I was jaundiced for a week, and discovered that I had also contracted hepatitus. Only a couple days after I was released from the hospital, and while I was still extremely ill, I had problems getting my boss to accept my doctors note putting me on bed rest. So for two days I worked 8 hour shifts barely able to get around, unable to eat, unable to use the bathroom, and unable to stand for even small amounts of time, and while I was struggling with this, I came home from work to find him f**ked up, and to my shocking disbelief, marks on his arms. He witnessed the hell I went through. He witnessed the doctor telling me my liver is failing. He heard him tell me I was infection ridden, and he watched me cry as i had to drag my body into my car to go to work, yellow skin and yellow eyes, dark circles, and painfully bloated abdomen. He heard me get up several times a night, throwing up anything I was lucky enough to eat that night, crying, shaking, sweat pouring down my face, laying in the bathroom floor scared to move. He heard me pray to God that I wasn't going to die. He knew that when I finally decided to tell my mom everything and go to the emergency room in the first place, that it was because I was almost certain I was septic, and I was beyond terrified. All these things he seen me go through, and he proceeded to stick a needle in his veins. I have not even considered doing it ever again. No high or rush is worth dying a nasty humiliating death and destroying my mother. It is entirely disgusting that he is still doing this. He attempts to hide it from me but I ALWAYS know somehow. It hurts me to no end and extremely pisses me off at the same time. Two days ago, when I got paid, he told me he wanted to get something. I was defensive and extremely weary but he persisted and I knew he was going to find a way to get it regardless and it was hard for me to say no knowing I would have to sit there and watch him being high. He told me he wasn't going to IV it, and so I caved. We have been awake for two nights and three days. Today I went to his car and discovered he had IV paraphernalia hidden in his console. Without hesitation I grabbed them up and broke off the sharps and threw them into the woods going down the road. I understand I should have probably disposed of them a bit more responsibly but I was so angry I was shaking and couldn't see straight and I just acted without really thinking. I wasn't even concerned with pissing him off by doing that. He betrayed my trust for the... Well there's been too many times to count. He has always had problems with honesty and addiction.
I sent him a message when I got to work asking him what he had done and he admitted to me that his dealer offered him the tool and he couldn't refuse. I stood my ground and instead of acting hurt, I told him I'm not rolling over and dealing with this anymore. I told him the next time I find something or find out he's done it again, I will be showing up at his dealers house and I will drag the b*tch out of her house and stomp her head into the concrete, and I will call the police on myself and sit in the county jail until I am released for having a manic episode and losing my mind and attacking a widely known and hated dealer for ruining my life. I told him his family will know everything, I will not be made out to be the monster, and he will be choosing between rehab or leaving. He told me he needed therapy, not rehab, and that I needed therapy as well. I already know what I need to do. It pisses me off that he feels like he has room to even say what I need to do. I work 40 hours a week as a retail manager at a very short handed store. So finding time to commit to appointments on top of the appointments I already have lined up for numerous issues, is highly difficult for me. I told him not to worry about my going to therapy, I'll get there. I don'teven relapse unless he goes and gets the substance and brings it around me. I don't know anyone to go buy it from, so relapsing on my own isn't even a concern.
He truly believes that he knows what he's doing and he won't get sick or something spontaneous and accidental could happen. He's very intelligent, but ridiculously ignorant about drug use and all the possibilities and consequences that come with it. I'm so tired of making up excuses for him to my mother, who we live with. I'm sick of watching him be thwacked out acting crazy. I'm tired of being neglected because he's zoned out on whatever stupid pointless thing he is doing. I'm tired of watching him tear apart the house and the shed, making huge messes, while claiming that he is "organizing". I'm tired of him not putting forth the effort to finding a job. I'm tired of hurting myself with thoughts of being forced to leave him when I don't even want to. I'm tired of constantly looking over my shoulder wondering what he's doing while I'm working. I'm tired of having to make up excuses for not wanting to be intimate because I'm afraid he is going to give me some kind of illness from injecting himself with harsh chemicals. I'm tired of feeling the need to casually glance down at his arms when he's not looking, and nervously asking him about his long sleeves, beating around the bush, in fear of pissing him off with my accusations. I'm tired of feeling like everything I hold dear to me, everything that keeps me going, is crumbling at my feet and I will ultimately be forced to be the person to break my own heart and his, AFTER it reaches the point of watching his health deteriorate, and after seeing him hit the deepest of rock bottom, KNOWING that once I walk away, he will be alone, disowned by his family, suffering, and eventually dying from all the carelessness. There is no moving on without him, never to turn back. I would attempt to find happiness as not to waste my life, but I will also suffer from afar, and no one could ever truly replace him.
I understand that this entry is verrry long and drawn out, but I have no one to say these things to so I never get to let it all out. Ive been stewing on all these things for a while now, and It feels good that I finally got to say everything. If you read this whole entire thing I applaud you and I thank you for your time. If you have any kind of understanding or experience that relates to this in any way, I truly feel for you. I'd be interested to hear your story as well.