Hand me the remote while I watch poorly played self destruction


The relief was, of course and as expected-short lived.  The elephant remains the unspoken bane of my existence.  While it sits quietly sucking the life out of everyone, with meaty legs propped on the coffee table…even taking the remote and saying fuck that to watching football, Animal Planet all the way!

I suppose I should be elated and bow down the lure of the ‘legal’- used loosely at best- spice not spice that seems to have been more a step to the edge.  Not yet but denying probability isn’t viable anymore.

I really loathe the hassle of actively using and lying.  It really takes the spunk out of the day.

Can he at least not be that dumb *this* time.

Home he came and it remains a dance and if I want to be honest with myself, it remains my chase.  The epiphany didn’t come to him.  The asshole has returned, the only thing missing is the drug use without it smacking me in the face. The destructive variable that holds the control.  Missing is a matter of degree at this point, not a definitive.

There are times I wish bashing someone on the head would make the light bulb go on – myself included.  If only there was some way to make the otherwise intelligent human being – stop the stupid.  How is it possible to be this much of a dick?  Oh… that’s right, I’m dealing with a spouse who has substance abuse issues, and even knowing that the using is a manifestation of *something*.  I still keep keeping, maybe this time, right?  How many more times?  How many more..???  Co-dependent.

I am the target.  He’s my drug and I play my part of the addiction game like a pro.  Logic eludes me.

Leave or stay clean.  Period. Why the fuck can’t it just be that simple?

Now I’m getting invoiced for my wrongs :).  Apparently I have amassed a substantial debt to material matters he feels finically wronged with and therefore, in case you couldn’t figure that out – what he is owed and dare I say entitled to.

I almost feel bad at the pathetic nature of which he seems to utilize selective amnesia for his own emotional and finical destruction he left in his wake of using his legal, not spice, spice.  Should I trade mark that?

I guess feeling owed and wronged somehow absolves the lying, using, and fact every excuse under the sun has become an excuse not to work.  How does one go from 6 figures to being absolutely incapable of any form of making money?  Self-worth so low… but nah, I’m clearly mistaken that he has a substance abuse problem.

Let us now forget that so long as the website says “legal”, nothing else is of any concern, least of all the ones learning to detach the addict from the human buried underneath.

Since the implosion started in 2013, he has completely drained any and all of his nest egg.  Hundreds of thousands just gone.  I had the nerve to dare file taxes where I would not be held with a tax liability for money I had no idea was being taken out and blown.  How easily we forget that that is a mere fact of choices he and he alone made.

Why look at yourself when it keeps the game in play if  I stuck him with a tax bill.  I do apologize for supporting a family of 5 while half of last year you spent drugged up, walking the streets and oh, ya, temporarily restricted from mingling with society.

I know that prepaying tax penalties restricts buying power.  Doesn’t that burn like hemorrhoid that has an allergic reaction to Preparation H?  I bet it does.

The rehab didn’t seem to be anything more than a place to sleep to buy time until the powers that be couldn’t keep the threat of shoving you right back in the hole – the one you probably should have been left in.  Not because I would wish that, but at least you were safe, I guess we all were… there is that.

Enjoy the dangling of divorce over my head because you don’t like the IRS actually calling you on early withdrawals.   I know that I should have been the good enabling co-dependent wife who took on your erratic drug induced spending spree and the fall out mess you left that is getting in your way.

I must have missed the memo on the shut up and do whatever is needed to help the addict use drugs and rot his brain.

Here we are today, another substantial draining of his funds that I am not privy to.  I am the one who filed for divorce last summer when it seemed he would remain intertwined in the drug world.

Whatever reprieve from that seems to be lurking in the shadows, trying to figure out who to put the scope on.  Not me this time.  You will not get the same script to play out, the one you seem to banking on.

You are walking that line where the only thing that is real is the title you have created for yourself and the one you let drugs take away.


Kuddos for appearing to not be using today, or this week.  I did sign the papers and come November I may just walk away from the ruin you’ve made of yourself.  This time I have set it up so the finality of any actions influenced by drugs, falls right on you.

You don’t think you have a problem, you think and in turn act as an addict.  It doesn’t take me stumbling on your drug order to know how it will play out.

I don’t have the battle of addiction driving me to all extremes to avoid having to look at what it, sadly, is.

Threats, which really are veiled attempts to control the uncontrollable, take note that they are not there this time.  I don’t have any, because your life isn’t mine to fix and I sure as hell have no right to play the part of fixing when you don’t want to not escape in the drugs you think you can control.

It really is sad to watch.

The only thing I have heard for 3 days straight is money you think I owe you.  I wonder if there is an online course on how to spot drug seeking behavior?  I bet I would get an A!

Invoice me. Maybe you can use that invoice for a write off??  It really does suck when you’ve drained the last of the last and you don’t have access to any ones bank but your own.

Remember when you kept your money separate and you were doing well in rehab?  Are you aware that every action since you left rehab has been documented?  Do you realize that while you thought keeping what’s yours and yours alone under lock and key that I haven’t forgotten the level of vile you stooped to last time.  I haven’t forgotten your threats. I let those things fade and queue up to die either way life might go.

To fuel healing, healthy, recovery or searing reminders of what will come back.

I’ve watched you play the disabled card, I know you are insanely intelligent.  Intelligence doesn’t trump an addicted low though. You are anything but disabled, you are dangerously competent.

If that low comes back trying to disguise itself like some ill-fitting dress that should have been burned in the 80’s along with big hair.  You and you alone set the stage.

You are elementary level addict and you try and play in a world you don’t belong.

You don’t buy the hyper vigilance that comes with the territory of being a child of an alcoholic, you don’t buy that it doesn’t have to be you and crack pipe knitting on my living room floor while I bake bread before I can say with certainty – I know your using.

You don’t get that I will know, when the time comes that I see it in your eyes – you couldn’t sleep it off and appear clean long enough by the time I get home.

I knew well before.

I remember when drugs made you its puppet and you played games to keep me from the house.

This time I am well prepared. Even though it is the last place I want to be.

You don’t work by your own volitions.  For a year now, you’ve pulled money out and didn’t bother to say a word.  You’ve paid all your own bills, I have paid mine and the house and the kids.  The very same house I own in my own name.  The car you refused to finance with me because you didn’t want to “take on my debt” is paid in full, titled only to me.

There is no joint anything, no bank account shared.

I do have a little money, I do have some measly assets like my 2006 car.  I knew enough to have conversations where you refused to get a mortgage, where you incurred debt with credit cards I didn’t know you got.  I knew enough to pay bills, to keep receipts.

I knew enough to have some of those conversations in written form – I don’t need to prove they happened or didn’t.  I have your words that you wrote me.

When you become desperate for money, and you’ve left this life to use.  The timing of divorce when you ask for marital money, when you play the unemployed disabled card to the court, like you threatened you would last time and ask for alimony…

How will you manipulate the courts at that point?  You are the one who just put a year of living finically separate and ability to pay your own things, with zero contribution to running a home.  You bought groceries… So did I, most of them actually.

Childs play.  All one really needs to do when dealing with an addict, is hand them the rope.  I promise they don’t need anyones help to hang themselves.  Just pull out your popcorn and sit beside the elephant watching Animal Planet.

We are in a waiting game.  I already won.  I won when I decided to let you have this and love you without condition.

I made a very decisive and conscious choice to love.  Period.  Remind myself that when I wish homicide was a real option that wouldn’t land me in jail that there are healthier solutions!

Will you love yourself enough to not be lost to drugs?

I want to crawl into bed, lie on your chest and be with the person that isn’t this.  I want life to be *if* using crawled back in.

Not this, this is not a matter of *when*.  Not well played either.

I love you.  Love you enough to let it be yours.  It is a tremendous and one of the hardest steps when you have the misfortune of loving an addict.

I love myself to not be lost in this again.


Why a black horse?


I don’t have a particular affinity for horses nor is my home adorned with figurines or velour ‘throws’ you can pick up at any reputable  vendor, you know the ones – tucked near densely traveled roads.  Selling their hideous wares.  Entrepreneurship at it’s finest. 

I am in the awful place of self-doubt, holding my worry so tight that I have become conscience of the clenching of my jaw.  I’m fighting myself.  Fighting myself because of him. 

That horse is something I need to believe was real.  “You are more together than you are apart”, that’s what keeps turning over and over in my head.  Parting words at couples retreat that seemed pretty fucking profound at the time. 

Equine therapy they said, obviously my attempts to derail this retreat he set up for us, for our marriage was unsuccessfully thwarted by me.  I found myself, along with my husband and a few other couples stuck in a pen with 3 horses we knew nothing about…other than the black one liked to kill goats.  Awesome.  Fuck this. 

Somehow with all my efforts to resist, I ended up bonding with the abused black horse that everyone else wanted to connect with.  You could feel his disdain for the humans he wanted nothing to do with.

I think he would have much preferred goats.

“More together than you are apart”. 

Me, my new comrade in the black horse named Tornado.  We had something.  His handler, who takes these 3 horses,  and their story to provide equine therapy services.  We bonded.  His handler came over to me, telling me that damn horse doesn’t bond with anyone.  A handful in his upwards of 10 years being an equine therapy horse.  Did I understand how powerful that was?

He let my husband come to him too, a step above a goat but all things factored in, it was more than anyone else was able to accomplish.  It was us, only us that had some dynamic with that horse.  

“More together than you are apart”.

Tornados story was mine, when they shared how these 3 vastly different horses came to be equine therapy horses, I stood there looking into his hardened eyes – they were a reflection of me.

Now I have that, as the sun starts to rise and I’ve been up for hours.  Fighting myself, everything is a fucking goat to me right now.  I feel anything but together.  

Maybe the reason I bonded with the goat killing black horse wasn’t about me.  Wasn’t about what I thought it represented.  Maybe that black horse represented my husband.  Just maybe the bond we had, had less to do with how we happened to end up in a pen together. 

I chase my husband, or I did the last two times that fucking drug came into my life uninvited.  I want him here, right this second.  I want him whole, safe.  I want him to be who he is without the deception used to hide his drug of choice.  I want him to want to be drug free more than the effort it takes to keep the illusion up. 

He is my person. 

He has addiction issues.  He had 3 calls to a place that sells his drug of choice.  Three calls made to a number from his google voice.  Three calls that just happen to be made in a way that they wouldn’t show up on the cell phone bill.  They came neatly packaged with a reason why he called them.  I want to believe that…It’s easy to want to believe anything they will say to make what it looks like, not be, just that. 

I might just be a goat, the “legal herb”, more likely than not has factored into me being the one he wants nothing to do with…me, unable to sleep, sadness that feels suffocating and him at a hotel. 

He took everything that mattered to him.  I guess that’s why I am here and he is not.  This is why he can’t be here.  I remember the hell it was when he was using.  The soul sucking price paid.  The fear.

His “legal herb” seems to have won this time.  I’m just a goat like everyone else stuck in the pen.  He wants to come back less than he wants to stay clean.  That energy has been staring me down for a while.  I don’t know if that came before the thoughts of getting his drug came first, or the drug fed that underlying current.  I know where he is this morning.  I know come checkout time it becomes like a game of Russian Roulette.  The only fucking thing I can do, is nothing.  Let him have this, let him pull the trigger when and how he sees fit.  I have no weight.  

This has nothing to do with not wanting him here.  It has nothing to do with the beautiful man he is when that drug is not a game player.  The controlling factor.  

He took everything when he left.  I don’t know if he will want to be clean.   He can’t be in my life using, we can’t be anything if that drug factors in.  

For now, I have find my sanity.  He’s the black horse this time, not me.