Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Caleb's Eulogy
Brian was a great father. He loved us and we loved him. He helped us with homework and when we would step out of line or do something bad he would tell us to fix what we are doing wrong. He could be really funny at times. He taught me a lot of things. He taught me how to build and fix things, He also taught me how to chop wood and saw wood. A lot of people knew him as a bad person but that wasn't him. He was a good person and a great role model for us even though some things weren't good. I really did love Brian and I wish that he was still alive.
Brendan's Eulogy
Brian meant a lot to me and a lot to everyone here. He did a lot to protect my family and make it perfect. Well nobody is perfect but Brian tried his best to make things perfect. What I liked most about him while he was still with us, is when we would hang out and watch sports and whenever I asked him we would go out and play basketball and the last time I played basketball with him, it was windy and I was beating him in a game of 21. I was up by 6 points and then he stopped and said "I'm going to go get better shoes on and get out of these flip flops," but the fact was he wasn't wearing flip flops, he was tennis shoes. But then I still beat him and then we went inside and he started to sneeze and cough. A little bit after that, he said "I think I am allergic to losing." And that is the best memory that I had with him. I am going to miss him, we all are. Thank you for letting me speak about a wonderful person and an amazing father.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
All For Nothing
I used to believe everything happened in our life for a reason, and now I suddenly am completely lost. No way was this for a reason. What I am going through as well as everything I have gone through in my life, suddenly makes no sense...
I remember a conversation I had with my husband a couple years ago. He was always so down about life, and why bad shit always happened, and I would tell him "because as tragic and horrible as it is, it has always led to better things." He used to admire my optimism and faith in life. I lost that the day I lost him.
I woke up this morning and looked at my phone to realize what today was--June 23rd. Tears instantly started streaming down my face. It's not fair. It's not fair I have to be going through this.
Six years ago today, I had just gotten hit with the horrifying truth that my first husband, and I am not sure what to call him--not father, not dad, not sperm donor, just this person that I didn't really know, yet had bore all four of my children with him--had molested my four year old daughter, his own DNA.
I had gotten suspicious that something was wrong, but convinced myself I had to be wrong. Yet I had to know for sure to protect my child, my children. I had taken my daughter to the hospital the day before and they gave her a full exam only to come back and tell me there was trauma to the area but until the labs came back they would not know for certain, and that would take 9 weeks. I sat there in that room surrounded by DFS, and the Lander police detective, asking what I wanted to do. I told them I had to know. I couldn't wait for tests to come back. I couldn't risk him hurting my daughter if this was really happening. I was convinced I was wrong, I kept telling myself and everyone around me that it can't be true, that I was a monster for even suspecting something like this... But, I had this horrible nagging pit in my stomach that would not go away, and I knew I had to find out the truth.
I took the day off and set up a video camera in my daughters room. It took every ounce of strength I had to do this. I kept telling myself it wasn't true, and kept battling with what I should do. Finally after hours of walking around her room, and setting the camera up a million different times, I walked out. That night was awful! I pretended to go to bed, and I heard footsteps again in her room and that minute or two felt like an eternity! I got up and made as much noise as I could and he came out of her room, mind you the majority of his disgusting actions were done in her sleep. I retrieved the camera and refused to watch it that night out of fear. I knew if what I suspected was on that camera, I would end up dead or in prison. People who are confronted feel like a cornered dog, and I was afraid he would kill me to silence me, or I would kill him out of sheer rage.
I laid awake all night in bed staring at the ceiling praying to God I was wrong. When he went off to work I pulled out the camera, and as you can imagine, it was every mother's worst nightmare, right there playing reel for reel in front of my very eyes.
I called my best friend at the time in a panic and told her she had to take me to the police station immediately. I called my sister to come sit with my kids, and called my boss and told him I would not be in. I had to tell everyone what was going on and then I went to the police station and sat on the curb outside waiting for the detectives to come in for the morning to hand over the recorder.
I spent the remainder of my day curled up on my friends couch just staring in disbelief and total disgust, waiting to hear back from the detective after the questioning of this pedophile. The detective came and met me at my friends house and sat down in front of me and broke down in tears and told me that he had confessed to the entire thing. He stated that it had not gone on for long but yes, he had been doing this while she was sleeping.
It was over... my daughter was safe...
What I was not prepared for was the nightmare that would happen afterwards.
I was attacked verbally, through text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, and messages. I was terrified to leave my house or answer any phone calls, I had only informed a very small handful of the necessary people what had happened, but when you live in a small town it does not take much to make the word travel fast. I avoided all phone calls and messages just stared off in space often in disgust and full of self blame. I was in shock!
The very next morning, my phone rang and I looked down to see it was Brian. I excused myself and stepped out on my porch and answered the phone.
"Kristie? What is going on? Why did I just hear from Alexa that your husband just got arrested for molesting your daughter? Why the FUCK didn't you call ME?! I shouldn't hear this from someone else!"
I just broke down crying and said "I don't know. I don't even know how all of this got out. I don't know what to do..."
"First thing you should have done was call ME! You should have told me and I could have handled it. What do you need me to do?"
"I'm scared Brian I don't know... I'm scared..."
"Do you want me to come sleep on your couch? Are you scared he will get out and someone will hurt you?"
"I don't know. Maybe... I don't know..."
"Well call me if you need me. For fucks sake don't let me hear about anything like this again through someone else!"
We hung up the phone and I went back inside. To face my life, to face reality...
I got numerous calls and texts from concerned friends, and people that would stop by, and eventually they all stopped coming by. Brian didn't, he was there everyday. He called me and texted me multiple times a day.
When I started work again, he would stop by my work every single day to check on me. One point after some horrific enounters with individuals, I became terrified of leaving my work or my home. I had developed severe social anxiety. Brian had stopped by to see me and could see the distress on my face and he asked me what was wrong, and I told him I was scared to leave my home or work. I didn't want to go grocery shopping I didn't want to even drive to work. I just wanted to be hide. I was scared of everyone.
He looked at me and told me "If you need me call me. If you need someone to go to the store with you I will go grocery shopping with you. If you are scared to walk across the street, call me, I will walk you across the street."
He was there for me, when no one else knew how to be. It seemed that with the darkness of his past he was able to use that to make me feel safe. He had witnessed so much evil and bad in his life, that he was not intimidated, or lost on how to be there. He was always there... even when I would try to push him away.
To top this off he had this little girl that was always alone. Her father was going through a nasty custody battle with the mother of his other two children, so she had little to no contact with her siblings at this time. I hated seeing her run around by herself and I was afraid something would happen to her. I felt this need to protect her. He was working from sun up to sun down, so I found myself taking her in daily.
Little did I know that her and my daughter would form an instant bond. I never knew that Kiki craved for a sister. Especially at a time I felt lost. They seemed to lean on one another. This little girl had become the greatest thing to happen to my daughter, and at that time I believed she needed my daughter too, and me. Or so she had me believe for so long...
Brian and I continued to grow closer, in his need to help me and distract him from losing his other two kids, in his need to have a positive female influence in his daughter's life. My need to feel as though I were "protecting" a child from being harmed from others. The need for my daughter to have someone to bond with and gain a "sister".
He was struggling with finances and was ready for a career change and so he ended up getting a job working next to me. I was so disgusted with my life, and what had happened that it became physically impossible for me to eat, or sleep. I would stay up until 3am and then wake up at 5am every single day. In that time I kept trying to fix various things in my house. Trying to prove my independence.
Brian began to baby feed me at work. Knowing I believed it rude to tell anyone no or turn down food, he would bring food to me everyday, not push it on me. He would bring the food set it down in front of me and then walk away, I would pick at it, hesitantly, here and there until eventually he could see I was done and then he would take it away. He made sure my water bottle was consistently full. If I were talking with a customer her would come get my bottle and fill it then hand it back to me.
I lost 80 lbs in 3 months and every person I encountered would talk about how "good" I looked. I hated it. I didn't earn it. I was wasting away out of horror and disgust, not hard work. I became increasingly annoyed. Brian never once mentioned my weight. Not before, not after, not during. He just fed me.
He put up with all of my crazy mood swings. When I would lash out and try to push him away, he would drive over at 2am just to calm me down. To sit with me in the dark and let me read text messages that were too long for him to send. He would always answer my frantic messages.
The very first court date I had to attend I had thought I could do it on my own. I had not asked anyone to go with me. I don't like inconveniencing others, I figured that this is my life, and I have to live it. When it was time for me to go, he looked at my face, and asked if I had someone to go with me. With my lips pursed together and all the blood drained from my face, I shook my head and walked out the door. I made it halfway to my car when Brian came up behind me and said "You should NOT be doing this alone. I'm going with you." I knew this was a huge risk for him, he had just started working there and he had told our boss that he didn't care, he was going. Thankfully my boss, although shocked, was impressed that Brian had stepped up as a man and was not going to let me do this on my own.
Brian went with me to every court date. It was difficult for him to sit there since he wanted nothing more than to lunge at my ex and kill him, but he knew that the greatest thing he could do was just be there for me, in silence.
When I fell behind on my mortgage, I was at a loss for what to do. I was losing everything all at once. I broke down in tears. I sat in the hallway behind my office and cried. Brian came to check on me, since I had been gone for so long, and when he asked what was wrong, I handed him the foreclosure papers.
"What are you going to do? You can't lose your house. That house doesn't belong to you, it belongs to your kids."
"I don't know. I don't know what to do. I have to file bankruptcy on all the other debts. I have nothing left."
"Well you better get up and make some phone calls you can't let this happen. You have to get up and fight."
I stood up and I went to him and put my arms around him and began crying more.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Just hold me. I just want you to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay."
He stood there with his arms down at his sides and became very aggravated and annoyed.
"Fine, but crying and holding you isn't going to save your house."
"FUCK YOU! Just GO!"
I pushed him away and went to the bathroom with renewed anger, I looked at myself in the mirror and pulled myself together, he was right. I was being weak and I had to do something.
I walked out of the bathroom and began making phone calls to my attorney. I noticed Brian was gone, figuring he went to lunch, I was still pissed at him, even if he was right.
About an hour or so later Brian walked back in the door and handed me an envelope of money, there was $3000 in there and that combined with my check would save my home. I just stared at him in shock. He told me he had taken out a loan, he couldn't let my kids lose their home.
During this time, as you can imagine we had fallen in love. Deeply in love. In fact most would argue we had been in love for two years before this. We had a friendship for years. Somehow always leaned on each other often. Yes, even sexual. I am not proud of the fact that I had "cheated" on my ex. I will always defend my actions, even if it really doesn't matter, wrong is wrong. I had tried to leave my ex for two years. We had not been happy for several years prior to our first break up. I knew we were over and there was no hope for us, and no love left, I just didn't want to hurt him, or my family, so I always found myself going back to my ex for peace's sake.
Brian was the first person I slept with outside of my marriage, however, he was not my last. I had slept with four other people. Most of those were right after my ex had been arrested. To me it was the only way I could distract myself in the middle of the night. I refused medication, drinking, so to get my mind off from everything I used sex. Brian was the only person that was a consistent. Never thought we would have a real relationship. I didn't even know I ever wanted one again. Yet, we fell in love, long before either of us were willing to admit that we were.
Brian became my hero, he saved my life, my kids saved my life, and the daughter I believed for so many years was mine, saved my life.
As horrible as everything was for us to go through I believed that maybe it was for a reason. I told Brian several years later "Yes, it was tragic what we went through, but look what we gained out of it. I found love, real love! We have each other. My children have the father they deserve, Kiki has a sister she longed for, I gained a daughter. We became a family. So as awful as it was to go through it, I count my blessings that we have each other..."
Now I sit here. On June 23rd, six years after that horrific day, and my husband is gone. The daughter I thought was mine, and loved as mine, has completely turned on me, left my daughter hurt and alone, no longer the sister she thought she had. No father to guide my boys into manhood, no father there to protect the little girl he swore to always be there to protect. The verge of losing my home once again...
I remember all the times and all the years I would tell my mom I was not happy and I wanted to leave my husband, I could not handle how much he degraded me, I hated his addiction to porn. I hated that he always put his needs first above everyone else. She would always tell me time and time again "At least he's not a woman beater, a cheater, a drunk, or a drug addict." I will always remember this because that "drug addict" was more of a man, more of a father, more of a husband than my sadistic ex ever could be.
I can't see the light... I can't see the reasoning. I see only pain. He was my hero. He was my light in my total darkness. Now I'm surrounded in clouds of darkness. Children that need me to protect them from anymore pain in there life, with my little desire to live on. Because right now, I don't see a reason for any of this. None... there is no reason. Just a curse, of the lives I touch. The only thing I can keep thinking is that God took the wrong one. I don't care who hears me say this, but he did, He got it wrong. Brian was a troubled soul but he was a good man, and the heart of my life. He taught me how to live, and now I am lost, without him. This, all of this, was for nothing...
I remember a conversation I had with my husband a couple years ago. He was always so down about life, and why bad shit always happened, and I would tell him "because as tragic and horrible as it is, it has always led to better things." He used to admire my optimism and faith in life. I lost that the day I lost him.
I woke up this morning and looked at my phone to realize what today was--June 23rd. Tears instantly started streaming down my face. It's not fair. It's not fair I have to be going through this.
Six years ago today, I had just gotten hit with the horrifying truth that my first husband, and I am not sure what to call him--not father, not dad, not sperm donor, just this person that I didn't really know, yet had bore all four of my children with him--had molested my four year old daughter, his own DNA.
I had gotten suspicious that something was wrong, but convinced myself I had to be wrong. Yet I had to know for sure to protect my child, my children. I had taken my daughter to the hospital the day before and they gave her a full exam only to come back and tell me there was trauma to the area but until the labs came back they would not know for certain, and that would take 9 weeks. I sat there in that room surrounded by DFS, and the Lander police detective, asking what I wanted to do. I told them I had to know. I couldn't wait for tests to come back. I couldn't risk him hurting my daughter if this was really happening. I was convinced I was wrong, I kept telling myself and everyone around me that it can't be true, that I was a monster for even suspecting something like this... But, I had this horrible nagging pit in my stomach that would not go away, and I knew I had to find out the truth.
I took the day off and set up a video camera in my daughters room. It took every ounce of strength I had to do this. I kept telling myself it wasn't true, and kept battling with what I should do. Finally after hours of walking around her room, and setting the camera up a million different times, I walked out. That night was awful! I pretended to go to bed, and I heard footsteps again in her room and that minute or two felt like an eternity! I got up and made as much noise as I could and he came out of her room, mind you the majority of his disgusting actions were done in her sleep. I retrieved the camera and refused to watch it that night out of fear. I knew if what I suspected was on that camera, I would end up dead or in prison. People who are confronted feel like a cornered dog, and I was afraid he would kill me to silence me, or I would kill him out of sheer rage.
I laid awake all night in bed staring at the ceiling praying to God I was wrong. When he went off to work I pulled out the camera, and as you can imagine, it was every mother's worst nightmare, right there playing reel for reel in front of my very eyes.
I called my best friend at the time in a panic and told her she had to take me to the police station immediately. I called my sister to come sit with my kids, and called my boss and told him I would not be in. I had to tell everyone what was going on and then I went to the police station and sat on the curb outside waiting for the detectives to come in for the morning to hand over the recorder.
I spent the remainder of my day curled up on my friends couch just staring in disbelief and total disgust, waiting to hear back from the detective after the questioning of this pedophile. The detective came and met me at my friends house and sat down in front of me and broke down in tears and told me that he had confessed to the entire thing. He stated that it had not gone on for long but yes, he had been doing this while she was sleeping.
It was over... my daughter was safe...
What I was not prepared for was the nightmare that would happen afterwards.
I was attacked verbally, through text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, and messages. I was terrified to leave my house or answer any phone calls, I had only informed a very small handful of the necessary people what had happened, but when you live in a small town it does not take much to make the word travel fast. I avoided all phone calls and messages just stared off in space often in disgust and full of self blame. I was in shock!
The very next morning, my phone rang and I looked down to see it was Brian. I excused myself and stepped out on my porch and answered the phone.
"Kristie? What is going on? Why did I just hear from Alexa that your husband just got arrested for molesting your daughter? Why the FUCK didn't you call ME?! I shouldn't hear this from someone else!"
I just broke down crying and said "I don't know. I don't even know how all of this got out. I don't know what to do..."
"First thing you should have done was call ME! You should have told me and I could have handled it. What do you need me to do?"
"I'm scared Brian I don't know... I'm scared..."
"Do you want me to come sleep on your couch? Are you scared he will get out and someone will hurt you?"
"I don't know. Maybe... I don't know..."
"Well call me if you need me. For fucks sake don't let me hear about anything like this again through someone else!"
We hung up the phone and I went back inside. To face my life, to face reality...
I got numerous calls and texts from concerned friends, and people that would stop by, and eventually they all stopped coming by. Brian didn't, he was there everyday. He called me and texted me multiple times a day.
When I started work again, he would stop by my work every single day to check on me. One point after some horrific enounters with individuals, I became terrified of leaving my work or my home. I had developed severe social anxiety. Brian had stopped by to see me and could see the distress on my face and he asked me what was wrong, and I told him I was scared to leave my home or work. I didn't want to go grocery shopping I didn't want to even drive to work. I just wanted to be hide. I was scared of everyone.
He looked at me and told me "If you need me call me. If you need someone to go to the store with you I will go grocery shopping with you. If you are scared to walk across the street, call me, I will walk you across the street."
He was there for me, when no one else knew how to be. It seemed that with the darkness of his past he was able to use that to make me feel safe. He had witnessed so much evil and bad in his life, that he was not intimidated, or lost on how to be there. He was always there... even when I would try to push him away.
To top this off he had this little girl that was always alone. Her father was going through a nasty custody battle with the mother of his other two children, so she had little to no contact with her siblings at this time. I hated seeing her run around by herself and I was afraid something would happen to her. I felt this need to protect her. He was working from sun up to sun down, so I found myself taking her in daily.
Little did I know that her and my daughter would form an instant bond. I never knew that Kiki craved for a sister. Especially at a time I felt lost. They seemed to lean on one another. This little girl had become the greatest thing to happen to my daughter, and at that time I believed she needed my daughter too, and me. Or so she had me believe for so long...
Brian and I continued to grow closer, in his need to help me and distract him from losing his other two kids, in his need to have a positive female influence in his daughter's life. My need to feel as though I were "protecting" a child from being harmed from others. The need for my daughter to have someone to bond with and gain a "sister".
He was struggling with finances and was ready for a career change and so he ended up getting a job working next to me. I was so disgusted with my life, and what had happened that it became physically impossible for me to eat, or sleep. I would stay up until 3am and then wake up at 5am every single day. In that time I kept trying to fix various things in my house. Trying to prove my independence.
Brian began to baby feed me at work. Knowing I believed it rude to tell anyone no or turn down food, he would bring food to me everyday, not push it on me. He would bring the food set it down in front of me and then walk away, I would pick at it, hesitantly, here and there until eventually he could see I was done and then he would take it away. He made sure my water bottle was consistently full. If I were talking with a customer her would come get my bottle and fill it then hand it back to me.
I lost 80 lbs in 3 months and every person I encountered would talk about how "good" I looked. I hated it. I didn't earn it. I was wasting away out of horror and disgust, not hard work. I became increasingly annoyed. Brian never once mentioned my weight. Not before, not after, not during. He just fed me.
He put up with all of my crazy mood swings. When I would lash out and try to push him away, he would drive over at 2am just to calm me down. To sit with me in the dark and let me read text messages that were too long for him to send. He would always answer my frantic messages.
The very first court date I had to attend I had thought I could do it on my own. I had not asked anyone to go with me. I don't like inconveniencing others, I figured that this is my life, and I have to live it. When it was time for me to go, he looked at my face, and asked if I had someone to go with me. With my lips pursed together and all the blood drained from my face, I shook my head and walked out the door. I made it halfway to my car when Brian came up behind me and said "You should NOT be doing this alone. I'm going with you." I knew this was a huge risk for him, he had just started working there and he had told our boss that he didn't care, he was going. Thankfully my boss, although shocked, was impressed that Brian had stepped up as a man and was not going to let me do this on my own.
Brian went with me to every court date. It was difficult for him to sit there since he wanted nothing more than to lunge at my ex and kill him, but he knew that the greatest thing he could do was just be there for me, in silence.
When I fell behind on my mortgage, I was at a loss for what to do. I was losing everything all at once. I broke down in tears. I sat in the hallway behind my office and cried. Brian came to check on me, since I had been gone for so long, and when he asked what was wrong, I handed him the foreclosure papers.
"What are you going to do? You can't lose your house. That house doesn't belong to you, it belongs to your kids."
"I don't know. I don't know what to do. I have to file bankruptcy on all the other debts. I have nothing left."
"Well you better get up and make some phone calls you can't let this happen. You have to get up and fight."
I stood up and I went to him and put my arms around him and began crying more.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Just hold me. I just want you to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay."
He stood there with his arms down at his sides and became very aggravated and annoyed.
"Fine, but crying and holding you isn't going to save your house."
"FUCK YOU! Just GO!"
I pushed him away and went to the bathroom with renewed anger, I looked at myself in the mirror and pulled myself together, he was right. I was being weak and I had to do something.
I walked out of the bathroom and began making phone calls to my attorney. I noticed Brian was gone, figuring he went to lunch, I was still pissed at him, even if he was right.
About an hour or so later Brian walked back in the door and handed me an envelope of money, there was $3000 in there and that combined with my check would save my home. I just stared at him in shock. He told me he had taken out a loan, he couldn't let my kids lose their home.
During this time, as you can imagine we had fallen in love. Deeply in love. In fact most would argue we had been in love for two years before this. We had a friendship for years. Somehow always leaned on each other often. Yes, even sexual. I am not proud of the fact that I had "cheated" on my ex. I will always defend my actions, even if it really doesn't matter, wrong is wrong. I had tried to leave my ex for two years. We had not been happy for several years prior to our first break up. I knew we were over and there was no hope for us, and no love left, I just didn't want to hurt him, or my family, so I always found myself going back to my ex for peace's sake.
Brian was the first person I slept with outside of my marriage, however, he was not my last. I had slept with four other people. Most of those were right after my ex had been arrested. To me it was the only way I could distract myself in the middle of the night. I refused medication, drinking, so to get my mind off from everything I used sex. Brian was the only person that was a consistent. Never thought we would have a real relationship. I didn't even know I ever wanted one again. Yet, we fell in love, long before either of us were willing to admit that we were.
Brian became my hero, he saved my life, my kids saved my life, and the daughter I believed for so many years was mine, saved my life.
As horrible as everything was for us to go through I believed that maybe it was for a reason. I told Brian several years later "Yes, it was tragic what we went through, but look what we gained out of it. I found love, real love! We have each other. My children have the father they deserve, Kiki has a sister she longed for, I gained a daughter. We became a family. So as awful as it was to go through it, I count my blessings that we have each other..."
Now I sit here. On June 23rd, six years after that horrific day, and my husband is gone. The daughter I thought was mine, and loved as mine, has completely turned on me, left my daughter hurt and alone, no longer the sister she thought she had. No father to guide my boys into manhood, no father there to protect the little girl he swore to always be there to protect. The verge of losing my home once again...
I remember all the times and all the years I would tell my mom I was not happy and I wanted to leave my husband, I could not handle how much he degraded me, I hated his addiction to porn. I hated that he always put his needs first above everyone else. She would always tell me time and time again "At least he's not a woman beater, a cheater, a drunk, or a drug addict." I will always remember this because that "drug addict" was more of a man, more of a father, more of a husband than my sadistic ex ever could be.
I can't see the light... I can't see the reasoning. I see only pain. He was my hero. He was my light in my total darkness. Now I'm surrounded in clouds of darkness. Children that need me to protect them from anymore pain in there life, with my little desire to live on. Because right now, I don't see a reason for any of this. None... there is no reason. Just a curse, of the lives I touch. The only thing I can keep thinking is that God took the wrong one. I don't care who hears me say this, but he did, He got it wrong. Brian was a troubled soul but he was a good man, and the heart of my life. He taught me how to live, and now I am lost, without him. This, all of this, was for nothing...
Friday, June 17, 2016
No Judgement Needed
Don’t bother judging an addict. Your judgements, your
opinions are not needed. There is nothing you can say or feel about an addict
that they already do not feel about themselves.
Go ahead, call them a junkie, call them lazy, call them weak…
Be as demeaning as you possibly can toward someone battling addiction and I can
guarantee you that they feel that way about themselves times 100!
They don’t need your criticism. The addict in them already
feels your animosity. They feel animosity from everyone around them. Their
worst critic, is themselves.
They don’t feel worthy of love from other people. They don’t
feel worthy of a job, or a life outside of the world of drugs, and the people
that surround them with the same low self-esteem. The only way they can even
feel half way like a human being is by getting high. So they get high to feel
normal, only to feel like a worthless piece of shit for getting high, for
costing their family and friends, and most importantly, themselves.
What someone battling addiction needs is for someone to let
them know that they are enough. That
their life does count for something.
You think by telling an addict they are going to die, effects them? What you
don’t understand is that most addicts want
to die. So don’t tell them they are going to die. Tell them you love them. Tell
them the positive effects they have on your life and that they are someone.
An addict needs hope. They need love. Just like the rest of
you, me, us… Everyone at some point in their life has felt so incredibly low
about themselves, that they were not good enough for their jobs, their family,
for love. Close your eyes and imagine that, that
is your life every single day.
So why bother? You don’t believe in them, they don’t believe
in themselves, so why bother even trying to get better?
Have you ever considered a different outlook? Have you ever
thought to take a moment and tell an addict that they can become someone? Isn’t
that what we tell our children? You can be whoever you want to be. So because they
made a choice, allowed this illness to take over their lives, they suddenly
have to be subjected to it and ridiculed for it the rest of their lives?
There is nothing wrong with showing compassion. There is
nothing wrong with showing understanding. There is nothing wrong with loving
and accepting an addict for what they are and help them believe who they can be.
Forgiveness. A pretty big word that we tend to not use often
enough. An action to forgive those that hurt you, wronged you. Forgiving them
for becoming someone you may not recognize now, but forgiving them, so they can
become that person you knew and loved. They are still in there you know. It may
be hidden right now, taken over by an evil battling within themselves. They are
fighting to come out, come back to the surface, but they are scared… They are
scared you won’t love them again. They are scared they won’t love themselves
again. They are scared society will not accept them again.
Show them. Put out your hand, reach out and show them… Help
them come back to the surface. It will not be easy. It will be difficult--they
may mess up again, more than once. With enough faith and enough hope, and
enough belief, they may just come out to stay. They may win this fight. They
need your love. They need to love themselves. So give them what they want, give
them what they need—and believe in them again, so that they can believe in
themselves.You never know... You may just save a life.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
I don't know who I am without you...
I don't know who I am without you...
I wake up every morning with a heavy heart. My eyes slowly and hesitantly drag open to let in the first rays of light--realization starts to set in again that you are gone, as I observe my surroundings. The first thing I notice is the sleeping bag wrapped around me, the sleeping bag you were found on, on that fateful day. Your urn that I curl up with, is in no way a substitution for your touch, your skin, your sleeping breaths, but it's all I have to hold onto. I sleep on your side of the bed, I look over at your pictures and silently tell myself "I have to do this. I have to get up. I have to live on--no matter how much I don't want to."
With a deep sigh I pull myself out of bed--the only place I feel any comfort, surrounded by you, and your belongings. I walk across the hall to the bathroom, glance at myself in the mirror--I hate what I see. I hate the person staring back at me. I don't recognize her anymore. The broken sad eyes, the bags and lines growing underneath. I see the weight I have gained, as I have turned to food as a form of coping, a form of self destruction. The first thing I think of, is how gross I must look to you. If you are there watching me, looking over me, how disgusting I must be. I turn away just that much more lost, not knowing who that person is in that mirror.
I climb into the shower and I curl up on the floor allowing the water to wash over me. As though the water has some healing powers to wash away all my pain, all my hopelessness...
When I emerge from the shower and make my way back to our room to find clothing for the day--my gaze falls and lingers among your clothes, hanging undisturbed, on your side of the closet. I just want to grab one of your shirts and pull it over my head and climb back into bed, the bed we shared, and hide away from the world--a world where you no longer exist...
I turn away and put on clothes that are increasingly becoming tighter around my waste line. Gather the last of the things I need from our room. I walk over to the giant picture hanging on my wall, with eyes that stare back at me and following me wherever I go. I ask you "Why? Why did you leave me like this? What am I supposed to do without you. Why can't I be with you?" I lean in an kiss your lips on the cold glass and imagine your lips under mine, "I love you." I say my goodbye like I have done for all the years past as I leave to make my way to work.
I miss the texts I used to get from you on a daily basis to let me know you were awake and your first thoughts were of me, "Have a good day booboo. I love you." I miss the smile that would span across my face, and my heart that would flutter in my chest, never had that message grown old. For years I received that message almost daily, and I would give anything to get those messages for many more.
I manage to get to work, I listen to songs that remind me of you on the road. Once at work I look at the pictures around my office of you and I happy together, at our children, when we were happy, when we were one, when we were whole...
I try so hard to pull myself together and determined to do a good job that day. Yet, somehow I don't feel the inspiration I need. You were always my driving force. I loved doing a great job, having a successful day, so I can come home and tell you. So that I can see and hear the pride in your voice as you tell me "Good job baby!" I miss you listening to the radio just to hear my commercials, because you loved hearing my voice and the creativity I put behind it. I loved making you proud!
When I go home, I don't really know what I'm going home to. My kids are independent, living their own lives, full of video games, friends, and completely oblivious to my presence. I can't blame them, I'm not exactly a joy to be around these days. It would just be nice to be reminded that I do matter. I remember all the times rushing home to be with you.
You used to lay on the couch, and the moment I walked through the door your head would pop up and you would ask me how work was. I would kiss you then see what you needed, whether it be food, or something to drink before I settled next to you on the couch, to either talk about my day, your day, or just quietly watch you as you flipped impatiently through the channels when commercials would come on. I grew used to never settling on actually watching any one thing, because you changed from so many different programs.
Now I come home and my house is a mess everyday, since you are not here to ensure that the kids do their chores. My yard is overran with grass knee deep because I can't afford to fix the brand new lawn mower we bought last year. I see peeling paint, missing roof shingles, and other various broken pieces of our home that you would try to fix while you were at home. There is garbage and dishes surrounding the outside of the house as the kids run wild with no rules, no guidelines or discipline from a father that was very consistent with them, and enforced routine. It seems my voice, goes completely unheard without you. Sometimes out of complete exhaustion I just don't even bother trying.
I don't know what to do anymore in the evenings. I don't really have anyone to talk to about my day. I don't have you there to cook for and make elaborate meals for. The kids prefer quick meals, never able to agree on anything I ever made before, and still not able to agree on them now. So my desire to cook has died with you. So instead I find my way climbing back to my room and curling back up in my bed feeling completely lost and dreading falling asleep because tomorrow I have to accept that you are gone all over again...
I don't know who I am anymore, and I hate that I have become this person... In this life I do not recognize, this person that I do not recognize, this home I do not recognize...
I wake up every morning with a heavy heart. My eyes slowly and hesitantly drag open to let in the first rays of light--realization starts to set in again that you are gone, as I observe my surroundings. The first thing I notice is the sleeping bag wrapped around me, the sleeping bag you were found on, on that fateful day. Your urn that I curl up with, is in no way a substitution for your touch, your skin, your sleeping breaths, but it's all I have to hold onto. I sleep on your side of the bed, I look over at your pictures and silently tell myself "I have to do this. I have to get up. I have to live on--no matter how much I don't want to."
With a deep sigh I pull myself out of bed--the only place I feel any comfort, surrounded by you, and your belongings. I walk across the hall to the bathroom, glance at myself in the mirror--I hate what I see. I hate the person staring back at me. I don't recognize her anymore. The broken sad eyes, the bags and lines growing underneath. I see the weight I have gained, as I have turned to food as a form of coping, a form of self destruction. The first thing I think of, is how gross I must look to you. If you are there watching me, looking over me, how disgusting I must be. I turn away just that much more lost, not knowing who that person is in that mirror.
I climb into the shower and I curl up on the floor allowing the water to wash over me. As though the water has some healing powers to wash away all my pain, all my hopelessness...
When I emerge from the shower and make my way back to our room to find clothing for the day--my gaze falls and lingers among your clothes, hanging undisturbed, on your side of the closet. I just want to grab one of your shirts and pull it over my head and climb back into bed, the bed we shared, and hide away from the world--a world where you no longer exist...
I turn away and put on clothes that are increasingly becoming tighter around my waste line. Gather the last of the things I need from our room. I walk over to the giant picture hanging on my wall, with eyes that stare back at me and following me wherever I go. I ask you "Why? Why did you leave me like this? What am I supposed to do without you. Why can't I be with you?" I lean in an kiss your lips on the cold glass and imagine your lips under mine, "I love you." I say my goodbye like I have done for all the years past as I leave to make my way to work.
I miss the texts I used to get from you on a daily basis to let me know you were awake and your first thoughts were of me, "Have a good day booboo. I love you." I miss the smile that would span across my face, and my heart that would flutter in my chest, never had that message grown old. For years I received that message almost daily, and I would give anything to get those messages for many more.
I manage to get to work, I listen to songs that remind me of you on the road. Once at work I look at the pictures around my office of you and I happy together, at our children, when we were happy, when we were one, when we were whole...
I try so hard to pull myself together and determined to do a good job that day. Yet, somehow I don't feel the inspiration I need. You were always my driving force. I loved doing a great job, having a successful day, so I can come home and tell you. So that I can see and hear the pride in your voice as you tell me "Good job baby!" I miss you listening to the radio just to hear my commercials, because you loved hearing my voice and the creativity I put behind it. I loved making you proud!
When I go home, I don't really know what I'm going home to. My kids are independent, living their own lives, full of video games, friends, and completely oblivious to my presence. I can't blame them, I'm not exactly a joy to be around these days. It would just be nice to be reminded that I do matter. I remember all the times rushing home to be with you.
You used to lay on the couch, and the moment I walked through the door your head would pop up and you would ask me how work was. I would kiss you then see what you needed, whether it be food, or something to drink before I settled next to you on the couch, to either talk about my day, your day, or just quietly watch you as you flipped impatiently through the channels when commercials would come on. I grew used to never settling on actually watching any one thing, because you changed from so many different programs.
Now I come home and my house is a mess everyday, since you are not here to ensure that the kids do their chores. My yard is overran with grass knee deep because I can't afford to fix the brand new lawn mower we bought last year. I see peeling paint, missing roof shingles, and other various broken pieces of our home that you would try to fix while you were at home. There is garbage and dishes surrounding the outside of the house as the kids run wild with no rules, no guidelines or discipline from a father that was very consistent with them, and enforced routine. It seems my voice, goes completely unheard without you. Sometimes out of complete exhaustion I just don't even bother trying.
I don't know what to do anymore in the evenings. I don't really have anyone to talk to about my day. I don't have you there to cook for and make elaborate meals for. The kids prefer quick meals, never able to agree on anything I ever made before, and still not able to agree on them now. So my desire to cook has died with you. So instead I find my way climbing back to my room and curling back up in my bed feeling completely lost and dreading falling asleep because tomorrow I have to accept that you are gone all over again...
I don't know who I am anymore, and I hate that I have become this person... In this life I do not recognize, this person that I do not recognize, this home I do not recognize...
Sunday, June 5, 2016
When I close my eyes...
When I close my eyes;
I can see your face,
I can see your smile flashing bright white perfect teeth dazzling in it's own glory.
I can reach out and touch your chin running my finger tips along the rough bristle of an unshaven jaw line.
When I close my eyes;
I can see your lips, so soft, so plump, so full, so inviting.
I lean in to lay my lips gently and affectionately against yours,
I can taste the sweetness of your lips entangled in mine with a kiss...
A kiss full of unspoken promises and unsaid words of love.
When I close my eyes;
You are there holding my hand,
gazing at me through your eyelashes with your beautiful hazel eyes,
in a way that only you could--making my heart and body melt under your stare.
You tell me everything will be alright, that you love me, you have always loved me and always will.
That you are waiting for me, you will always be waiting for me, as I will always wait for you.
When I close my eyes;
I can feel you,
I can remember you,
I can see you,
I can hear your voice,
hear your laughter.
I can touch your skin
and feel your heart beat as I rest my hand among your chest.
When I close my eyes;
It is so painful to open them again and you are not there.
How I long to wait for the next time I close my eyes.
I can see your smile flashing bright white perfect teeth dazzling in it's own glory.
I can reach out and touch your chin running my finger tips along the rough bristle of an unshaven jaw line.
When I close my eyes;
I can see your lips, so soft, so plump, so full, so inviting.
I lean in to lay my lips gently and affectionately against yours,
I can taste the sweetness of your lips entangled in mine with a kiss...
A kiss full of unspoken promises and unsaid words of love.
When I close my eyes;
You are there holding my hand,
gazing at me through your eyelashes with your beautiful hazel eyes,
in a way that only you could--making my heart and body melt under your stare.
You tell me everything will be alright, that you love me, you have always loved me and always will.
That you are waiting for me, you will always be waiting for me, as I will always wait for you.
When I close my eyes;
I can feel you,
I can remember you,
I can see you,
I can hear your voice,
hear your laughter.
I can touch your skin
and feel your heart beat as I rest my hand among your chest.
When I close my eyes;
It is so painful to open them again and you are not there.
How I long to wait for the next time I close my eyes.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Life With An Addict
Last week I got a phone call from a friend that is staying with me--the cops were at my door. Apparently someone had reported their lawn mower missing last year and this summer as they were driving through our ally they noticed a lawn mower that resembled theirs. They called the police and said they believed that Brian had stolen their lawn mower last year. I just sat there at work and cried. I could not believe this was happening just two months after losing my husband. I was happy and enraged to get another phone call stating that the serial numbers did not match.
Let's begin with the fact that I BOUGHT a lawn mower last summer, at ACE Hardware. It ended up not working properly, however, it was the only model they had so we got an upgrade when Brian took it back for an exchange. So, of course my first thought was, "Did he do this?" I am angry at myself for even questioning it.
There is the constant stigma that addicts have that they are violent, thieves, liars, and pretty much scum. Here is a little bit of a heads up, there are more addicts out there than you realize. Some hide it better than others. There are doctors, lawyers, cops, businessmen... your next door neighbor, your aunt, your uncle, your brother, your friend. You just have not had your eyes opened up to it yet. Now that I got that out there I will tell you what it was like living with an addict.
Was my husband violent? Yes.
Did he lie? Yes.
Did he steal? Yes.
Let us first discuss the violence. He has hit me. Not during the entire course of our relationship. Really I have never been afraid of him. Neither have my kids. Okay, I take that back. In the beginning he yelled and threw things and at first they feared him, then they realized he was all talk and all show. I have never witnessed him hurt a fly! I heard all these stories of his street fights and to me it was strange, because I never witnessed anything more than yelling and throwing.
So when did he hit me? During the year that he was completely out of control--reference my first blog "We Lost A Person Not An Addict". I knew he was out of pills, and the night before he hit me he was very agitated. He told me he was going to bed and not to wake him the next day. He has done this many times before--stayed in bed an entire day, sometimes two. I slept on the couch that night. The next day I was upstairs watching television with my daughter. His friend had called, I will leave names out, and I of course did not answer the phone because I was told to let him sleep so I did. Awhile later he got out of bed to use the restroom and his daughter told him his friend had called. He came upstairs in the living room and asked me why I did not tell him that he had called. I reminded him that he had told me to let him sleep all day.
I don't know why he snapped, he became someone completely different. He flew at me pulled me up off the couch by my hair and started punching me. It was almost like he was someone completely different. He then threw me on the floor and called me all kinds of horrendous names. So I got up quietly went down to our room and started packing his things with tears streaming down my face. He asked what I was doing and I told him he had to go. He kept telling me to stop and when I did not he began kneeing me in the head bouncing my head off the shelves behind me. I would just get up and keep going and at one point he pushed me over and started kicking me in the head and my head hit the door jam of my closet. At this point his daughter wanted to protect me and she came down to our room knocked on the door and begged her dad to go. She kept telling him "Please dad, let's go, I don't want to be here anymore. I want to leave. Let's leave." I knew she was saying this to protect me. He shattered our mirror and left me laying in the broken shards of glass on his way out the door.
Immediately his daughter came in and knelt down beside me to see if I was okay, as I laid there sobbing. She told me she didn't mean what she had said, she didn't want to leave me, she just wanted him to stop. I told her I knew and I hugged her. As soon as I was capable of getting up, I sent a text to Brian's friends, that I knew he would be going to and told them what had happened. I was horrified to later find out that they never even really talked to him much about it. They just talked about drugs, needles and getting high. That moment I cut association with them. I had two black eyes, a fat lip, and knew I had a concussion. I did not go to the hospital, I did not want Brian to be charged with domestic violence, and knew the doctors would never believe any story I had to come up with. So, I did nothing...
What did I accomplish out of this? Do I advocate for people to stay in violent relationships? Absolutely NOT! In the five years Brian and I were living together I never saw this side of him. Never was I in fear of him. In seven years of a relationship I have never seen what he had become in that exact moment. Have I endured a lot over the years? Yes.
I ended up in WBI at one point with a major anxiety attack. This was a result of the things he had said to me, but they were issues I had been battling for YEARS! Hearing them out loud from the man I loved, was devastating. After a week in WBI I actually came to terms with my life and my situation and no longer allowed it to control me. No longer was I going to allow someone to ever tell me I did not protect my child from the actions of others. Let me straighten one thing up, this was not the result of Brian but a past I could not escape. What he did say to me was wrong, however I learned to finally heal from that past.
I have no wedding ring because one of the times he had switched medications, in a fit of rage in the mountains he threw my ring out the window, because I had taken it off so I would not lose it in the lake.
I have had to walk with my kids in some of the most ridiculous of situations when he would get into his fits of rage and left us stranded.
Now let's move onto the lying...
Of course he lied. He lied a whole heck of a lot. He lied time and time again about what he was doing, where he was going, what he was taking.
One point I was paying for outpatient care for his Suboxone treatments and he was lying to me for months about what he was doing. I had not realized he was trading them for the "good stuff". I had risked everything I owned to pay for the treatments. I lost my car, damn near lost my home.
He would lie about what he needed money for. He would convince me that a pair of earrings he bought me were $300 when I knew for a fact they were only $90. He couldn't exactly just ask me for money for drugs, so he lied.
Now as far as his stealing goes, I will tell you one thing, he did steal, but he stole from ME! He did not believe in stealing. He would constantly take money out of my bank that was for bills. Eventually I had to make the embarrassing decision to take him off my account so that he could no longer take out the money we needed for the house. He would take my things and sell them or trade them for drugs. He would steal my medications that I needed for anxiety or my pain.
Some of the most horrific things he did were flat out disgusting and desperate. I had blown out both of my knees and was in severe pain and took my entire bottle of pills and left for awhile. Another time I had damn near died from my kidney stones that caused a blockage and an infection and I had to get a life flight to receive proper care. I had the strongest medications a person can have prescribed to me. I remember Brian almost foaming at the mouth, he wanted it so bad. I paid no attention to him, for I was in ridiculous amount of pain. Before getting my prescription I insisted on buying a safe to lock the medication away. Brian had broken into the box and took all of my medication and swapped them out with laxatives, that were very similar looking in color and size. I instantly knew and I confronted him, he was able to give me back half, and the rest I had to endure. I was in pretty bad shape, but I lived through it not reporting it.
So yes Brian did steal, but he stole from me, he stole from our family. He was very sick...
Here in lies the problem with an addict, everyone assumes they steal strictly because they have a drug problem and they don't know how they come up with the money for drugs. Well I will tell you the one problem, he had a prescription for his drugs, doctor written, legal prescription--drugs. Then of course the insane amount of other addicts merging together, finding each other in every dark hole imaginable. I call it this crazy cesspool of drugs and addicts, that just dump their pills and they go around and round in this pool while they are hovering over it waiting for their dip. They buy, they trade, they sell, they borrow, from each other.
Brian had a tendency of stealing stupid stuff from other addicts when he was ready to break away, not drugs but things, dumb things, like video games, and stuff he thought the kids would like and his way of saying sorry and making up for what he had done. I always returned the items if I could because I don't want stolen property and even if it was from another addict it was still not something I wanted. I also knew he was not completely right mentally in the head at that time. He never stole big items, money, or anything serious.
I may have been wrong in a lot of my decisions, I enabled him--I know I did. Why? Because I believed in him. These things that happened they all happened during the worst year we had, the year that he had a ridiculous amount of prescription drugs prescribed to him. I knew that the person I loved was still in there. The person I married and spent several years of my life with.
After he beat the crap out of me, after all of the things he said to me and put me through, I lost a LOT of support from friends, family, for our relationship. His own mother told me I needed to leave him. I couldn't though. For one I loved his daughter like she was my own, I used to struggle calling her "his daughter" because for years I believed she was mine. I didn't want to lose her, didn't want to abandon her. Never did I realize it would be her that would abandon me, abandon us...
What he did, and the person he became, devastated him. He could not even look at me while I was healing without crying for what he had done to me. He hated himself. He vowed to never do anything like this to me again and he didn't. This is when his struggle began to try and get better, and the real fight began. At one point in April, he felt himself losing, and he was so afraid of hurting me again, that he left for fear of himself. He did not trust himself using around me anymore, he did not know he could trust his actions.
People don't understand the chemical imbalance that comes with using. It is dangerous, you lose control. If you have ever experienced a chemical imbalance at anytime in your life you will understand. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't seem to stop.
When he left he realized he was miserable without me, without our family. He would not sleep. He would spend day and night sending me messages. Sometimes we fought sometimes it was "what do we do". Eventually when he ran out of excuses, he came home. This was when we started his more serious path to recovery. He waited for his daughter to go to be with her family in Ohio for the summer, and then he checked himself into WBI to get the help and treatment he needed.
So what is the point of this blog if I am just "confirming" all the stigma that comes with an addict? I stated he was violent, he lied, he stole.
He hurt me, he lied to me, he stole from me.
Everyone consistently judging him drove him to give up on life, to give up on growing outside of the stigma of an addict. The battles he had to endure with himself, did not need to be fought against the outside world, yet, the outside world invited themselves in...
I do not live in denial over who my husband was and what he did. But, he was tired of being defined as nothing more than an addict--a violent abusive, thieving, lying addict. No one gave him a chance, suddenly it appeared the world turned against him. He was bettering himself, he had been clean, he was staying home, being a good father doing what he was supposed to be doing.
Then suddenly people used those stigmas against him. He was being accused of being an abusive father, nothing but a drug addict that needed "help". Even though he had gotten help, they used that against him. Consistently broken down in every single meeting that was had. He even endured my frustrations and pain. We were in this together but somehow he felt very alone, because it was him they were after. Because he was an addict. Because he had hit me. Because he had a past.
No matter how much I tried to pull him out of himself, to believe in what he was doing with our lives. No matter how much my kids told him he was a great father and they loved him. No matter what we did or what we said he could not ever break away from the past and the decisions he made in his life they used against him.
Drugs change people. I have witnessed it time and time again. I watched people I was very close to become people I did not recognize. Parents that were solid good parents, losing their children due to bad choices. I have witnessed first hand the transformation the person they were to the person they had become. Some have won the fight to get better, to change, some have rooted their path, and I am not sure they are ever coming back. Either way I don't judge. Addiction is an ugly, ugly demon, that roars it's horrendous head, if given the opportunity, and it takes a hell of a person to fight against it.
The one thing I never have done, nor will I ever do, is forget that there is a person behind that addiction. There was a person that was good, that is loved, and that is worth holding onto and giving them hope--they can be brought back. They could use our faith, they could use our hope, our strength and encouragement.
I will not spend the rest of my life dwelling on the year my husband was out of control, and what I had gone through--I will remember that through it I still loved him, I still fought for him, and I still held onto hope until the very end. I will remember the good times that WAY outnumbered the bad times. I will remember the love. I will remember what all he did to help our family, not hurt our family. He was a good man, with a problem, some of us will never understand, just stand from the outside looking in. I will never regret staying with him, I will never regret loving him--because the addiction did not define him...
Let's begin with the fact that I BOUGHT a lawn mower last summer, at ACE Hardware. It ended up not working properly, however, it was the only model they had so we got an upgrade when Brian took it back for an exchange. So, of course my first thought was, "Did he do this?" I am angry at myself for even questioning it.
There is the constant stigma that addicts have that they are violent, thieves, liars, and pretty much scum. Here is a little bit of a heads up, there are more addicts out there than you realize. Some hide it better than others. There are doctors, lawyers, cops, businessmen... your next door neighbor, your aunt, your uncle, your brother, your friend. You just have not had your eyes opened up to it yet. Now that I got that out there I will tell you what it was like living with an addict.
Was my husband violent? Yes.
Did he lie? Yes.
Did he steal? Yes.
Let us first discuss the violence. He has hit me. Not during the entire course of our relationship. Really I have never been afraid of him. Neither have my kids. Okay, I take that back. In the beginning he yelled and threw things and at first they feared him, then they realized he was all talk and all show. I have never witnessed him hurt a fly! I heard all these stories of his street fights and to me it was strange, because I never witnessed anything more than yelling and throwing.
So when did he hit me? During the year that he was completely out of control--reference my first blog "We Lost A Person Not An Addict". I knew he was out of pills, and the night before he hit me he was very agitated. He told me he was going to bed and not to wake him the next day. He has done this many times before--stayed in bed an entire day, sometimes two. I slept on the couch that night. The next day I was upstairs watching television with my daughter. His friend had called, I will leave names out, and I of course did not answer the phone because I was told to let him sleep so I did. Awhile later he got out of bed to use the restroom and his daughter told him his friend had called. He came upstairs in the living room and asked me why I did not tell him that he had called. I reminded him that he had told me to let him sleep all day.
I don't know why he snapped, he became someone completely different. He flew at me pulled me up off the couch by my hair and started punching me. It was almost like he was someone completely different. He then threw me on the floor and called me all kinds of horrendous names. So I got up quietly went down to our room and started packing his things with tears streaming down my face. He asked what I was doing and I told him he had to go. He kept telling me to stop and when I did not he began kneeing me in the head bouncing my head off the shelves behind me. I would just get up and keep going and at one point he pushed me over and started kicking me in the head and my head hit the door jam of my closet. At this point his daughter wanted to protect me and she came down to our room knocked on the door and begged her dad to go. She kept telling him "Please dad, let's go, I don't want to be here anymore. I want to leave. Let's leave." I knew she was saying this to protect me. He shattered our mirror and left me laying in the broken shards of glass on his way out the door.
Immediately his daughter came in and knelt down beside me to see if I was okay, as I laid there sobbing. She told me she didn't mean what she had said, she didn't want to leave me, she just wanted him to stop. I told her I knew and I hugged her. As soon as I was capable of getting up, I sent a text to Brian's friends, that I knew he would be going to and told them what had happened. I was horrified to later find out that they never even really talked to him much about it. They just talked about drugs, needles and getting high. That moment I cut association with them. I had two black eyes, a fat lip, and knew I had a concussion. I did not go to the hospital, I did not want Brian to be charged with domestic violence, and knew the doctors would never believe any story I had to come up with. So, I did nothing...
What did I accomplish out of this? Do I advocate for people to stay in violent relationships? Absolutely NOT! In the five years Brian and I were living together I never saw this side of him. Never was I in fear of him. In seven years of a relationship I have never seen what he had become in that exact moment. Have I endured a lot over the years? Yes.
I ended up in WBI at one point with a major anxiety attack. This was a result of the things he had said to me, but they were issues I had been battling for YEARS! Hearing them out loud from the man I loved, was devastating. After a week in WBI I actually came to terms with my life and my situation and no longer allowed it to control me. No longer was I going to allow someone to ever tell me I did not protect my child from the actions of others. Let me straighten one thing up, this was not the result of Brian but a past I could not escape. What he did say to me was wrong, however I learned to finally heal from that past.
I have no wedding ring because one of the times he had switched medications, in a fit of rage in the mountains he threw my ring out the window, because I had taken it off so I would not lose it in the lake.
I have had to walk with my kids in some of the most ridiculous of situations when he would get into his fits of rage and left us stranded.
Now let's move onto the lying...
Of course he lied. He lied a whole heck of a lot. He lied time and time again about what he was doing, where he was going, what he was taking.
One point I was paying for outpatient care for his Suboxone treatments and he was lying to me for months about what he was doing. I had not realized he was trading them for the "good stuff". I had risked everything I owned to pay for the treatments. I lost my car, damn near lost my home.
He would lie about what he needed money for. He would convince me that a pair of earrings he bought me were $300 when I knew for a fact they were only $90. He couldn't exactly just ask me for money for drugs, so he lied.
Now as far as his stealing goes, I will tell you one thing, he did steal, but he stole from ME! He did not believe in stealing. He would constantly take money out of my bank that was for bills. Eventually I had to make the embarrassing decision to take him off my account so that he could no longer take out the money we needed for the house. He would take my things and sell them or trade them for drugs. He would steal my medications that I needed for anxiety or my pain.
Some of the most horrific things he did were flat out disgusting and desperate. I had blown out both of my knees and was in severe pain and took my entire bottle of pills and left for awhile. Another time I had damn near died from my kidney stones that caused a blockage and an infection and I had to get a life flight to receive proper care. I had the strongest medications a person can have prescribed to me. I remember Brian almost foaming at the mouth, he wanted it so bad. I paid no attention to him, for I was in ridiculous amount of pain. Before getting my prescription I insisted on buying a safe to lock the medication away. Brian had broken into the box and took all of my medication and swapped them out with laxatives, that were very similar looking in color and size. I instantly knew and I confronted him, he was able to give me back half, and the rest I had to endure. I was in pretty bad shape, but I lived through it not reporting it.
So yes Brian did steal, but he stole from me, he stole from our family. He was very sick...
Here in lies the problem with an addict, everyone assumes they steal strictly because they have a drug problem and they don't know how they come up with the money for drugs. Well I will tell you the one problem, he had a prescription for his drugs, doctor written, legal prescription--drugs. Then of course the insane amount of other addicts merging together, finding each other in every dark hole imaginable. I call it this crazy cesspool of drugs and addicts, that just dump their pills and they go around and round in this pool while they are hovering over it waiting for their dip. They buy, they trade, they sell, they borrow, from each other.
Brian had a tendency of stealing stupid stuff from other addicts when he was ready to break away, not drugs but things, dumb things, like video games, and stuff he thought the kids would like and his way of saying sorry and making up for what he had done. I always returned the items if I could because I don't want stolen property and even if it was from another addict it was still not something I wanted. I also knew he was not completely right mentally in the head at that time. He never stole big items, money, or anything serious.
I may have been wrong in a lot of my decisions, I enabled him--I know I did. Why? Because I believed in him. These things that happened they all happened during the worst year we had, the year that he had a ridiculous amount of prescription drugs prescribed to him. I knew that the person I loved was still in there. The person I married and spent several years of my life with.
After he beat the crap out of me, after all of the things he said to me and put me through, I lost a LOT of support from friends, family, for our relationship. His own mother told me I needed to leave him. I couldn't though. For one I loved his daughter like she was my own, I used to struggle calling her "his daughter" because for years I believed she was mine. I didn't want to lose her, didn't want to abandon her. Never did I realize it would be her that would abandon me, abandon us...
What he did, and the person he became, devastated him. He could not even look at me while I was healing without crying for what he had done to me. He hated himself. He vowed to never do anything like this to me again and he didn't. This is when his struggle began to try and get better, and the real fight began. At one point in April, he felt himself losing, and he was so afraid of hurting me again, that he left for fear of himself. He did not trust himself using around me anymore, he did not know he could trust his actions.
People don't understand the chemical imbalance that comes with using. It is dangerous, you lose control. If you have ever experienced a chemical imbalance at anytime in your life you will understand. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't seem to stop.
When he left he realized he was miserable without me, without our family. He would not sleep. He would spend day and night sending me messages. Sometimes we fought sometimes it was "what do we do". Eventually when he ran out of excuses, he came home. This was when we started his more serious path to recovery. He waited for his daughter to go to be with her family in Ohio for the summer, and then he checked himself into WBI to get the help and treatment he needed.
So what is the point of this blog if I am just "confirming" all the stigma that comes with an addict? I stated he was violent, he lied, he stole.
He hurt me, he lied to me, he stole from me.
Everyone consistently judging him drove him to give up on life, to give up on growing outside of the stigma of an addict. The battles he had to endure with himself, did not need to be fought against the outside world, yet, the outside world invited themselves in...
I do not live in denial over who my husband was and what he did. But, he was tired of being defined as nothing more than an addict--a violent abusive, thieving, lying addict. No one gave him a chance, suddenly it appeared the world turned against him. He was bettering himself, he had been clean, he was staying home, being a good father doing what he was supposed to be doing.
Then suddenly people used those stigmas against him. He was being accused of being an abusive father, nothing but a drug addict that needed "help". Even though he had gotten help, they used that against him. Consistently broken down in every single meeting that was had. He even endured my frustrations and pain. We were in this together but somehow he felt very alone, because it was him they were after. Because he was an addict. Because he had hit me. Because he had a past.
No matter how much I tried to pull him out of himself, to believe in what he was doing with our lives. No matter how much my kids told him he was a great father and they loved him. No matter what we did or what we said he could not ever break away from the past and the decisions he made in his life they used against him.
Drugs change people. I have witnessed it time and time again. I watched people I was very close to become people I did not recognize. Parents that were solid good parents, losing their children due to bad choices. I have witnessed first hand the transformation the person they were to the person they had become. Some have won the fight to get better, to change, some have rooted their path, and I am not sure they are ever coming back. Either way I don't judge. Addiction is an ugly, ugly demon, that roars it's horrendous head, if given the opportunity, and it takes a hell of a person to fight against it.
The one thing I never have done, nor will I ever do, is forget that there is a person behind that addiction. There was a person that was good, that is loved, and that is worth holding onto and giving them hope--they can be brought back. They could use our faith, they could use our hope, our strength and encouragement.
I will not spend the rest of my life dwelling on the year my husband was out of control, and what I had gone through--I will remember that through it I still loved him, I still fought for him, and I still held onto hope until the very end. I will remember the good times that WAY outnumbered the bad times. I will remember the love. I will remember what all he did to help our family, not hurt our family. He was a good man, with a problem, some of us will never understand, just stand from the outside looking in. I will never regret staying with him, I will never regret loving him--because the addiction did not define him...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)