Stop mething with your life!
Today I pulled my head out of my arse and stopped pretending that my relationship with K is normal. It’s not. It’s far from normal because he is a meth addict and I am fast becoming one – if I’m not already. If I don’t stop doing what I am doing, I am going to find nothing but misery – pure unadulterated misery. I went through all of this shit and more when I lived in Sydney already. Why the fuck is history repeating??? Because once again I am such a bad judge of character?
I already feel as if I am a walking zombie with no interest in life, with no desire to do anything. And, on top of that, in the last 3 days it feels like I have given up on even trying to convince K that using all the time is really affecting our relationship – there is no point because he just sees me as the person who is against him, the person who is trying to control him.
I know now that he won’t listen, he doesn’t want to listen and he doesn’t want to face the reality that I forced myself to confront. I have spent the last 12 hours or more on the internet reading everything I can find on meth and it has pretty much shattered any illusion I had of having a normal relationship with K, even having a lasting, loving relationship with him seems to be wishing and hoping for too much. I can forget about him ever asking me to marry him, forget about possibly ever owning a house with him, forget about hoping that he will see me as someone that isn’t his enemy, isn’t judging him. I can even forget about asking him to please consider my feelings when he makes decisions relating to his meth use because the drug has already tricked him into believing that he really doesn’t need anyone or anything – if I even
believed that giving him an ultimatum would work (it won’t) he would not think twice about choosing the drug over me.
And there is absolutely no point in even discussing this with him – he would just tell me that most of the anti-meth info on the web is propaganda, fear-mongering bullshit. Yeah, all those real people telling their stories must be wrong.
Yeah, so any illusions I had about even a reasonably happy ever after story, being in a healthy and happy relationship, having much hope for a future together has well and truly been beaten down to nothing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this much emotional pain. It fucking hurts to read that most if not all heavy meth users won’t think twice about lying, cheating, doing pretty much anything, telling you what you want to hear then manipulating the situation to suit their need for the drug if you try to keep them from it. I was reading all this shit about what other meth users did to their girlfriends, wives, husbands, kids, families, and friends etc and it was like it was written by me – describing K. I wanted to stop reading so fucking bad, I wanted to put my head in the sand again AND PRETEND IT WASN’T TRUE – this must be some sick joke – this isn’t happening to me and my K….ignorance is bliss…but it’s gone too far for that now.
The turning point for me was Wednesday night - when he told me about his decision to let his dealer use our business premise for the purpose of cooking (but only after hours of course!) That’s when I realised how deeply fucked up on meth he is, how dependant he is on it and the lengths he will go to ensure a continued and heavily subsidised supply. His reasoning for making this decision without first factoring in his business partner AND GIRLFRIEND – me? We ‘apparently need the extra cash’. I saw right through that straight away. His habit is getting way too expensive and in order to continue using the copious amounts he already consumes, he is offering our business premises as a cook-house – so he can get his meth for free. He tried to convince me that we will be PAID by his dealer for the ‘privilege’ of cooking on our premises. I thought he was joking. I thought he was fucking joking! My reaction was so fierce. I told him he was not serious. He was, deadly. I cried, begged, yelled, told him “NO” went through every logical thought process as to why this was a fucking bad, bad, bad decision. Nothing moved him. Within ten minutes of dumping that on me, he walked out the door – he stayed out all night – overseeing the cook-up – and came home late the next morning with his precious baggy only fuck off out the door again because it was all my fault for laying my "anger and negativity" on him.
That is when I saw first hand what he will do, what he is willing to risk, and who he is willing to compromise to ensure he can still use. I couldn’t make myself go to work that day. It felt as though our whole business was tainted, dirty, used. That was when everything changed because I could no longer bury my head in the sand.
He used to be able to talk about anything. Now, all I hear is endless talk on the A-Z of contraband. Almost every conversation revolves around drugs, how to get it, when it’s available, how to cook it, smoke it, what to use to smoke it, grow it, sell it, who knows who, how this person is a hard-man, old-school, blah, blah, blah. I REALLY DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK!!!!!
Why be so fucking impressed with all of that shit. If I hear him talk about how he grew a fucking crop and dealt weed one more time, I think I may just invest in a fucking gun to shoot myself clean between the ears. I am so fucking over drug talk, speed, Tina, creeper, meth, crystal, ice, getting wasted, being numbed, bombed, off-chops, what the fuck ever! Oh and all the drug movies are now coming out too, lets kick back and relax and watch some “Blow”. Don’t even get me started on the new buddy T - the friendly neighbourhood dealer. He’s gone from a fucking parasite scum-bag time-wasting, strung out to the new bank roll. And don’t feed me that crap about making some more money….the biggest concern was all the money being spent on the shit, and now he’s got it nicely set up so he can get his gear for free – I bet not one fucking brass razoo passes hands, it’ll be payment in powder form. Show me the bank balance at the end of the ‘temporary’ warehouse-for-meth-lab deal and I’ll show you sweet fuck all.
The more K will get, the more he will use – his intake has already reached mammoth proportions and I am only kidding myself if I take the naïve view that he will give it all up for me because he loves me more. Its not the fact that he won’t give it up it is the fact that he can’t that has me so fucking shattered, the fact that to him, meth and the experience of taking it, and the dependency he has on it, is bigger than anything else. Including me. I don’t have as much to offer, I can’t make him feel like meth does, I can’t satisfy any need in him because he’s been on this shit for way too long. He is only motivated to go out to score. We don’t do anything, go anywhere, see anyone. We exist. This isn’t living. It feels more like waking up dead every day.
It’s like he’s never really belonged to me, never really gave all of himself to our relationship because the Tina got him first. It feels like the K I fell in love with is there somewhere but he’s not accessible anymore. I feel so fucking cheated, and so fucking hurt and so fucking hopeless.
I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t go to anyone for help. I can’t even talk to him about how I am feeling. I am completely and utterly alone in this and I am too ashamed to even admit it openly. To top off the humiliation I have also been warned to keep my mouth shut, NOT TO SPEAK TO ANYONE including any of his friends or his family about any of this, to not breathe a word about his dirty little secrets.
In 12 fucking hours, I have gone from being blasé about using meth with him, to fucking HATING THE SOUL ROTTING, SPIRIT DESTROYING SHIT! I don’t want to be around it, I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to smoke it, smell it, or even be around anyone that does. If this fucking drug has robbed me of my chance to finally be happy with someone then I don’t need it in my face as a reminder of what I’ve lost to it on a fucking daily basis. That's the thing about meth addicts, they will put anything and everything first to feed their habit. If I was on fire and burning to death and a bag of meth was nearby, K would step over me to get to the meth first. So fuck the meth, if that is what it will eventually do to me, I don't want a bar of it.
The pain in my chest is full on, I am so devastated. All that stuff about meth users, their behaviours, how they treated people, how the drug always came first, how people who they were supposed to love became their enemy just like that if they kept them away from the drug, how their dealers became their best friends, how they avoided normal situations and isolated themselves to only those who used as well. Man, how badly was I just ignoring everything? That is probably why K offers me meth too….he doesn’t want to give it up, so instead of having to chose between me and the meth, it’s easier for him if I smoke it too. Then he doesn’t have to justify anything. No questions asked because we are both users.
Is there any point in me staying? Is there anything to be gained from how I am living my life right now? Am I too proud to admit that I am such a bad judge of character; that I was so desperate to escape the town I used to live in that I overlooked every warning sign? Warning signs which, in retrospect were pretty fucking glaringly obvious.
My life consists of nothing. I can’t even remember the last time I felt happy, or loved or appreciated. I’ve completely numbed myself out of the reality in an attempt to hide the hopelessness I feel on a daily basis.
I may as well be empty and hollow – because that is how I feel a good percentage of the time. I don’t feel safe, I don’t feel cared for, I don’t feel wanted or even liked at times. I feel like I am turning into the dependant meth-addicted girlfriend who has lost her shine, her appeal and her usefulness. My blatant and obvious co-dependency knows no bounds it seems.
I don’t understand how anyone would choose to live their lives like this and actually say that they enjoy it; that they are happy because they are doing exactly what they want to be doing. I have lost all motivation for anything other than smoking a million cigarettes, sleeping and sitting for hours on end mindlessly playing games on my laptop.
I don’t eat most of the time. I have stopped giving a damn about how I look because who cares anyway? I don’t go anywhere except work and home – I hardly see anyone else but K – and he has let himself go in the most spectacular way since I moved here. I have come to feel that if he doesn’t think I am worth making an effort for, then why the fuck should I bother making an effort for him? We are pretty much strangers, and I can feel the gap widening, resentment festering and the detachment growing.
K has gone from being an "occasional user" (LIAR!!!) to smoking all day every day. And, it seems that whenever he offers me some, I've taken it – mainly because I gave up trying to get him to slow it down. The old 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' trick. Except this trick will get you dead! The arguments we had over his use were astronomical – I gave up fighting it – so I joined him on his downward spiral into hell. There is no point to trying to get K to see anything he doesn’t want to see. I end up completely depressed, crying and then angry. I am not heard, I am not respected and I am feeling more and more like nothing every day.
I feel like an appendage; someone to keep stoned out on meth so I stay in the same shit-hole state as he is. “Keep her doped up with me then I won’t have to worry about cutting back. Keep her doped up so she becomes dependant on it too”. I’ve seen him do it with his friends. Those who have said “I just want to get off it” while he is feeding them more.
Since his friend arrived back from overseas four months ago, it’s been a free for all. The amount of money and the amount of gear that has been spent and smoked is completely obscene. The amount of money spent has been carefully ‘hidden’ from me, but I suspect it is in the near vicinity of $15,000. Every line that I swore I would not cross, I have crossed and I am disgusted in myself for being so weak, for allowing myself to be so juvenile that I want to do what everyone else is doing, so I fit in, so I feel like I belong, so I can show everyone that nothing fazes me, that I may be from the country but I’m a big girl….I’m cool. I’m not cool. I am a fucking A-Grade FOOL!
My time at home doesn’t amount to much. I don’t do anything except log onto my computer and sit down with a pack of smokes, a beverage, and the handy pipe that I made myself. Way to go! She can fashion a meth pipe out of a light-bulb! What a winner! And on the outside, everyone thinks I am doing so well. Moved up and onward. Have a boyfriend who loves me to death, we run a business together, we have it all going on, got all out shit together. Pity the reality is so much removed from the gloss I put on my phone calls home. But the more I dribble shit to people about how fucking awesome it is here, the more I see how completely fucking fucked it is.
The thing is, I know the meth makes me feel good, but when I am on it, I am also painfully fucking aware how fucked it is making me, how much I fucking hate myself for using it, how fucking disgusted I feel – like I have sold my fucking soul to the devil, I’ve become his whore. I see myself from the outside looking in – see myself wasting precious hours, wasting life, holed up, locked away, just mindlessly sitting all night long in complete silence, playing my computer games while J sits in complete silence on the other side of the room, completely engrossed in whatever it is he does. We are both strangers in our own individual meth-haze; we hardly communicate with each other even when we are on it. She can’t share you with anyone else, you see. She is an obsessive, possessive and all consuming force.
Complacency is a curse. And it set in so quickly. K doesn’t seem interested in doing anything with me. I have completely given up trying to get him interested in anything because what is the point? We are always ‘going to do it’ eventually but never do. Weekends pass in a haze of cigarette and meth smoke, blinds drawn to block out any signs of life outside, to block out the sun. K sleeps on the couch pretty much all the time now. If I am not sleeping by myself, I am sitting up all night, numb and listless and without any enjoyment. What I do, I do to pass the time. To get through one more night, one more day before I have to go to work – because at least going to work is something to do.
I have given up trying to keep the place clean. Nothing stays that way. Clothes all over the floor, rubbish strewn everywhere, dirty dishes stay in the sink for days because J gave up doing them when I moved in. J gave up doing a lot of things when I moved in. I guess having a girlfriend is a really good excuse to ‘stay in’ a lot. I feel grubby and cheap. There is an underlying smell of stale sweat and dirty bodies after a night on the gear. It reeks. We live in our own personal drug cave, but without all the mod-cons.
Sex is non existent. It used to be on the cards a lot when K tried to introduce me to watching porn with him - another 'symptom' of the meth apparently, perverse sexual feeling / thinking / actions. I tried to get into it, and got turned on a few times but after a while I just started feeling like a cheap dirty whore. It was starting to make me feel sick. There was no gratification in it. No feeling involved. And since I won’t watch porn anymore, K has lost interest in sex. He spends a lot of time downloading porn and has quite a nice selection of flicks on his hard-drive.
Maybe he really just wants a dirty filthy girlfriend, who he can just treat however he likes – not much effort is required, just keep her interested by giving her some meth, enough to get her hooked and coming back for more.
There is a complete degradation in living like this. There is no respect for yourself as an individual and pretty much no respect for the other person either – because if you respected yourself and the other person, you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t want them hooked on meth, you wouldn’t ask them to go against their own personal belief system and values. If you really respected a person, you would do whatever it took to shield them from the seedy grubby shitty fucking existence that has become my fucked up routine.
So this is what R meant when she said that I could have a great life or a miserable one. The man who I thought I knew is lying on the couch, snoring in a meth-induced sleep; I can smell his unwashed body from here. He will eventually get up and have another pipe, sit at his computer until the dealer answers his phone then fuck off for a few hours to get some more gear, come back here, then we go back to what we always do – J on his laptop, me on mine, strangers sharing the same mind numbing brain dead, devoid of feeling existence.
This is my life. But not for a minute more. I am done. Meth can eat the peanuts out of my shit. She is a fucking evil, creeping, all consuming bitch, and hatred does not even begin to describe how I feel about her. No eloquent words should be used to describe this substance, how grubby, dirty, filthy it is; how it tears out your guts, devours your heart, rapes your spirit and eats you from the inside out.