How I Loved Him Through His Addictions

I was eighteen years old when I met him. I thought, “this is it, this is what I’ve been waiting for.” Things were beautiful and wild between us and it was something I had dreamt about for as long as I can remember.

As a passionate person, I had always given so much love to others and evidently, not enough for myself. I had always wanted to fall in love with someone and to be in a beautiful, wild thing with a guy who respected me. I wanted to have the chance to embrace the hopeless romantic side of myself. I had always wanted something beautiful and meaningful.

When he confided in me about his drug addiction, I accepted it.

I asked him, “how do I help you?”

I asked him, “how do you get better?” 

When I realized I loved him, I was terrified.

I’d watch him move with the drugs and my vision blurred white and red. I’d listen to how he’d do it. I’d see the difference in the way he’d talk when he was sober verses when he was high. It was something he did all the time: multiple times a day, early in the morning, late at night.

I knew I couldn’t help him.

We would spend hours on the phone in silence because I knew what he was doing on the other line and I didn’t want to hang up on him. I didn’t want to let him leave.

How do I help you?

How do you get better? 

He told me to stop trying to help, to just let it go, to worry less.

When I told him I loved him, he didn’t say it back. He just watched me cry. He held me in his arms and listened to my whimpering break the silence between us.

How do I help you?

How do you get better?