By Anonymous
In the dirty, grey hall of a 1920s building in Hollywood, I saw my dreams, sitting high in the glittering hills, crash --- landing in the muck of a nasty break up. His Hollywood redo and my plan for some kinda success became a lower middle class fight over drugs, gambling and staying out all night. In that splotchy, dimly lit top floor, hope soured into a blistering argument over his multiple addictions and me throwing him out. He dragged his belongings to the elevator as we fought. As he descended, my sweet dreams for romance and career vanished. I’ve been a news reporter, an advertising writer and I’ve saved sea turtles in Greece. I’m wise, smart and sophisticated. I thought knew it all. Then I moved to LA. Now, six months later, I’m back home in Texas, recovering from a traumatic experience with the deadly crystal meth. Crystal meth is a fiendish illegal drug on an unchecked rampage in America. The federal government is rapidly enacting strict laws against it, as middle class families struggle in its grip. Meth is invading small towns and major cities, cutting its way into all levels of society. Before moving to LA I had never heard of meth. Ice? Tweaking? What’s that? But the man I loved knew about it. My boyfriend was an addict of meth. Through his chronic and heavy use, the man I loved dragged me into a disturbed and chaotic world, a place I never wanted to be that wreaked havoc on my life. For years F. had worked in the “industry”. He had come home to our hometown in Texas on a mysterious hiatus. Through a mutual friend we started to date. After being regaled by his tales of working in network TV, I started to think of own opportunities there. I’d always wanted to live in LA. After a year together, he asked me to return there with him. I finally agreed and within a week I had transferred jobs and found an apartment. He picked me up from the airport, as sweet as ever. During dinner, I thought “Everything’s going to be all right.” We went to his hotel room where I would stay until my place became free. When he came to bed that night sniffing, an alarm bell rang in my head. The word that came to me was “cocaine”. Though he’d admitted he had indulged when he was young, I assumed those days were past. And it was mid-May, hardly cold season. I loved being with him again so I ignored the warning sign. At 11:30pm the next night, he abruptly left. He was off to play a gig. Finally, at three a.m. he came to bed. Suddenly in a half sleep he grabbed me, held me and moaned: “P. I am so sorry, I am so sorry.” Why? It wasn’t just about being out late; that wail was a symptom of some deeper guilt. The next night he left again but this time he didn’t come home at all. At 4 am, my alarm bells were sounding. I tried to stay calm but I was devastated. How could he just leave me like that? Where were you all night? I asked, worry in my voice. I was at Kinko’s online looking for an apartment! Was that possible? It was the first in a thicket of lies to come. Meth addicts lie often and a lot, covering up a crazy lifestyle meth foists on them. Some mornings he was locked in the bathroom, screaming in pain. He had horrific stomach cramps and it sounded like someone was grabbing his intestines and twisting them. I was petrified. Was it the fruit and nut cake I brought from home? It lasted almost ten minutes yet he told me only to leave him alone. Typically he would spend hours in the bathroom with the door closed. It would be quiet in there and I wondered: what the hell is he doing? After a week of nocturnal disappearances, aloof, secretive behavior and a growing distance between us, I had to know what was wrong. So I snooped. Looking around, digging inside of his razor kit, I found what explained all. There, next to his dual-headed electric razor and shaving cream was a clipped, orange plastic straw, five inches long, and a small, empty bag with white crystal remains. After more than a year of dating, I never saw him have more than one drink and he did not smoke. Over the phone, a friend said most likely it was crystal meth.
(To Finish This Blog Article, Click Here) http://sarahjoysspace.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!4163E875C8DB7EE!553.entry
In the dirty, grey hall of a 1920s building in Hollywood, I saw my dreams, sitting high in the glittering hills, crash --- landing in the muck of a nasty break up. His Hollywood redo and my plan for some kinda success became a lower middle class fight over drugs, gambling and staying out all night. In that splotchy, dimly lit top floor, hope soured into a blistering argument over his multiple addictions and me throwing him out. He dragged his belongings to the elevator as we fought. As he descended, my sweet dreams for romance and career vanished. I’ve been a news reporter, an advertising writer and I’ve saved sea turtles in Greece. I’m wise, smart and sophisticated. I thought knew it all. Then I moved to LA. Now, six months later, I’m back home in Texas, recovering from a traumatic experience with the deadly crystal meth. Crystal meth is a fiendish illegal drug on an unchecked rampage in America. The federal government is rapidly enacting strict laws against it, as middle class families struggle in its grip. Meth is invading small towns and major cities, cutting its way into all levels of society. Before moving to LA I had never heard of meth. Ice? Tweaking? What’s that? But the man I loved knew about it. My boyfriend was an addict of meth. Through his chronic and heavy use, the man I loved dragged me into a disturbed and chaotic world, a place I never wanted to be that wreaked havoc on my life. For years F. had worked in the “industry”. He had come home to our hometown in Texas on a mysterious hiatus. Through a mutual friend we started to date. After being regaled by his tales of working in network TV, I started to think of own opportunities there. I’d always wanted to live in LA. After a year together, he asked me to return there with him. I finally agreed and within a week I had transferred jobs and found an apartment. He picked me up from the airport, as sweet as ever. During dinner, I thought “Everything’s going to be all right.” We went to his hotel room where I would stay until my place became free. When he came to bed that night sniffing, an alarm bell rang in my head. The word that came to me was “cocaine”. Though he’d admitted he had indulged when he was young, I assumed those days were past. And it was mid-May, hardly cold season. I loved being with him again so I ignored the warning sign. At 11:30pm the next night, he abruptly left. He was off to play a gig. Finally, at three a.m. he came to bed. Suddenly in a half sleep he grabbed me, held me and moaned: “P. I am so sorry, I am so sorry.” Why? It wasn’t just about being out late; that wail was a symptom of some deeper guilt. The next night he left again but this time he didn’t come home at all. At 4 am, my alarm bells were sounding. I tried to stay calm but I was devastated. How could he just leave me like that? Where were you all night? I asked, worry in my voice. I was at Kinko’s online looking for an apartment! Was that possible? It was the first in a thicket of lies to come. Meth addicts lie often and a lot, covering up a crazy lifestyle meth foists on them. Some mornings he was locked in the bathroom, screaming in pain. He had horrific stomach cramps and it sounded like someone was grabbing his intestines and twisting them. I was petrified. Was it the fruit and nut cake I brought from home? It lasted almost ten minutes yet he told me only to leave him alone. Typically he would spend hours in the bathroom with the door closed. It would be quiet in there and I wondered: what the hell is he doing? After a week of nocturnal disappearances, aloof, secretive behavior and a growing distance between us, I had to know what was wrong. So I snooped. Looking around, digging inside of his razor kit, I found what explained all. There, next to his dual-headed electric razor and shaving cream was a clipped, orange plastic straw, five inches long, and a small, empty bag with white crystal remains. After more than a year of dating, I never saw him have more than one drink and he did not smoke. Over the phone, a friend said most likely it was crystal meth.
(To Finish This Blog Article, Click Here) http://sarahjoysspace.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!4163E875C8DB7EE!553.entry
1 comment:
Addict Boyfriend, How Meth Destroyed My Relationship (& Is Wrecking Havoc On Middle Class America)
Just read this story and can't believe how it depicts my own experience with a 'Meth Messed Man". I too, started out in LA with an established career in the film industry and immediate great potential for all that I envisioned for my life. A couple of bad choices in relationships slowed me down and then a functioning Meth addict disguised as a charming loving charismatic successful and future 'family man' promised to finally be the 'one' for me. A long resume and credentials marking his established success, a beautiful home at a young age, a thoughtful giving person who wanted to fulfill all my needs. I should of listened to my gut when it didn;t seem right why he immediately wanted me to move in, meet his parents, establish me completely into his personal and professional life. But he made me laugh, made me feel safe and seemed like maybe it was just meant to be.
Well, as fast as he secured my trust and position in his life - how fast he became my further demise. He was so good at playing the good guy targeted by the LAPD for drug charges, mistreated by ex-girlfriends and wrongly betrayed by jealous ex-employees or friends. By the time he had my 'heart', i wanted to believe him and support him like a good woman should. How many times i found 'crystal pipes' while putting away laundry or cleaning the bathroom, i chose to believe his quick excuses or angry denial when i only confronted him 1/4 of the time.
How many nights did I go to sleep alone and wake up to his empty side of the bed. Whether he was 'reconfiguring his computers' all night or had yet some other unforseen car trouble or 'winning at the casino' - it was always some perfect excuse.
someone who was first ensuring my 10 minute lateness would be on time for important screenings or events, became the person I would have to nag at for 2 hours to get off the computer or come in from the garage to keep our social plans or eat the nice dinner I cooked ONLY BECAUSE HE ASKED.
OH and i can certainly relate to the 'errands'. Everyday there was some 20 minute promise to some urgent electronic or harware needed for the house or the grocery store 'if there was anything I might want'. no matter what, those errands were always 2 hours to all night, even if i was waiting at home sick in bed, desperately needing for what I asked.
It was partly my fault for putting up with more than 2 episodes of that, but also the deceptive hope of a meth addict who WAS STILL MAINTAINING HIS LIFE AND HAD NO PHYSICAL SIGNS WHATSOEVER! He wasn;t gaunt and scabby, he was husky (even with a gut), naturally bronzed with thick hair and barely any cavities in all his teeth. He always ate even more than I wanted him too and lectured me because I slept too much (my 8 hours seemed 'lazy' to someone who rarely slept 4).
What drew me into the relationship was his undivided attention, romantic plannning and interesting conversations that would last all night. It turned into a repetitive soul sucking routine of fulfilling his daily 'to do lists', downtime in seperate areas of the house and meaningless conversations unless it had something to do with him. I felt dead in a relationship that had nothing to do with me and more based on the role i was expected to facilitate for a functioning meth addict to maintain his life.
I could go on and on, but everything I read in this previous story reflected the epitomy of the relationship I just had, only I was with someone who physically and mentally better at hiding it. This year it got worse and worse, stood up and hysterical over his disapearance over christmas eve and christmas day. Finding e-mails with hookers wanting to 'party' and disappearing many nights. Verbal abuse calling me 'a cunt' escaliting to bruises and eventually a concussion over his actions that initally caused a fight.
I obviously moved out when it came to fearing for my life and he's still managed to plead for my sympathy when its 'dire to his life'. Its been a horrible learning experience that has taken too much out of my own life. A drug that I myself only tried once and puked out any possible desire of my own. But has taken someone with better parents, more accomplishments, potential and qualitities than people have, and turned him into an immoral, unexplainable and toxic being that has derailed my own life. Whether its the underlying flaws of the person or the overpowering hold of that drug - any sign of 'tina' with anyone -- is the only sign you need to RUN!
Even the remarkable few percent that eventually recover, will have the eternal damage to their overall personality and a body of 'household solvents' to pollute your future kids.
Instead of crying or worrying or fuming while someone chooses to do whatever the fuck they do all night and fuck up every following day for the bathroom cleaner they desperately suck from a pipe -- why not put your energy into someone that would rather give it back to you? The answer is obvious now, if it wasn't before.
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