Living With the Lies; My Story Part 3

There are really no words to succinctly describe what it is like living with an addict.  I think for me, the hardest part was knowing that the man I loved was hiding somewhere inside.

While my husband promised me he would get help for his drug use, he refused to acknowledge he had a problem.  In his eyes, I was the one with the problem.  In his eyes, I was trying to control him.  In his eyes, I was playing the martyr.  And in his eyes, I needed to accept that was who he was and deal with it.

I, on the other hand, was certainly not going to "just deal with it".  From the day we brought The Boy home from the hospital, to the day my husband took his own life, our life together was a battle.  When I called him out on his lies and continued drug use, he would verbally abuse me.  He did his best to manipulate every situation and make me feel badly.  He would tell me to take our children and "run to my mommy" if he was so bad.  He would tell me my standards were outrageous and if I left him I would end up bitter and alone. 

During the short periods of time he was clean, the man I loved would come out.  He was still able to make me laugh like no other.  Falling asleep curled up next to him was my peace.  He was playful and proud with our son, and when we discovered we were going to have our 2nd child, he was elated.  He knew she would be a girl and he wanted nothing more than to have a pretty princess he could dress up in fancy dresses and Mary Janes.

When I discovered we were pregnant with The Girl, I cried.  Our marriage had been tumultuous at best and I wasn't confident in our future.  Although he had finally agreed to go into rehab, he was continuously relapsing.  In the last year of his life, he relapsed five times.  Before I ever told him I was pregnant, I considered abortion.  However, I had a dream that my unborn child would be a girl.  I dreamed that I would never conceive another girl and that without her, I would be incomplete.  What an amazingly accurate dream.

After over a year of his abuse (of me and the drugs), I decided I couldn't take anymore.  Under no circumstances was I going to raise my children in a home with an addict.  In April, 2000, I left.  I was four months pregnant with The Girl.  The Boy and I moved in with my mom and her husband.  Once again, my husband went into treatment.  In addition to treatment, we began marriage counseling.  While I was determined to be free from his addiction, I still loved him.  I had not given up hope that he could still be saved.  Leaving him broke my heart, but I hadn't given up on him.

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