So Begins the End

I would like to say that I woke up that day feeling off. I would like to say that my anxiety was worse that day than normal. I would like to say I felt wrong. But honestly I had been so anxious for so long I could not have felt too much worse, or so I thought. Living with an addict makes you brace yourself for everything, fear everything, try and control everything and every reaction. I do this so the hurt that will come to you can be somehow mitigated. I think we fool ourselves into thinking we can control certain circumstances when in this situation, because it is completely unbearable to not be able to cope, even when it’s not real.

So began that day, like so many others. A pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat. I tried to talk myself out of a full blown panic attack. I did this how I often did it, by making excuses and rationalizing. There was nothing rational about his behavior. Nothing. But like I said before I tried to fool myself, because I had to. He would not call the probation number to see if he had to test that day. He hated going in to do it and I can not blame him, even now. Urinating in front of someone you do not know is a very unpleasant experience to be sure. I did it for him everyday because the consequences of not doing it were dire, and I was the one who would suffer most from them. I did this to control the outcome of this situation and so I could breathe. I suspected he was high the minute he picked up the phone, but I had no idea what was in store for me. I was very used to him being high and lying about it, or drunk and lying about it. But this, this was different.

Ever since he got a DUI, he had been searching for a way to “change his brain.” I hate that fucking phrase. An internet search of course brings up cough syrup. Dextromethorphan to be exact. He had “robo’d” when he was in high school and decided that this was a solution. Keep in mind he is 44 when he decided to do this again. He now begins his addiction to cough syrup, it only took about a week and he was fully addicted. He tried to hide it, but the slurred speech and blown pupils were a dead give away. A few times a tried really hard to believe him when he said he was not high. I really did. I always knew, even when I pretended I didn’t, because I was too tired to fight about it. This was his way of not drinking and fooling the urine test. He tried convincing me that it was legal, and he was not going to get in trouble because urine tests don’t test for it. He told me I was going to really like it. I had way too many responsibilities to even think about it, many of them were his responsibilities that I shouldered because he was never going to. That whole “control the situation so you don’t get hurt worse” thing again. Because he lied about it and hid it, I had no idea how bad things had gotten.

I went over to pick him up to go test, he had his children with him. I was going to take them for ice cream while he had to do his test. It was cold, winter in Utah is the worst. Even when the sun is out it is often bitter and polluted. The sun light has a sick brownish quality to it. This day was very cold, very polluted. I can’t seem to separate the weather and the events of that day. I walked up the three flights of stairs and walked in.

Right away, my heart dropped. It was after one p.m. and it was clear he had not even attempted to get ready, to shower, to dress. I knew this meant he was intoxicated. He had a five day beard growth and his hair was a total mess. His pupils were shot. His smile was slow and too much effort had been put into it. I hated him at that moment, in front of his young teenage kids, in the apartment that I paid for, floor strewn with clothes. I seethed and tried to cover it up. He could barely walk down the hall when I tried to talk to him in one of the bedrooms that were still empty. He denied and denied and denied. I whispered my venom and my hurt and my disgust. He denied and lied and justified until I was literally unable to listen for one more second. I tried to leave, he grabbed at me, he pushed me backwards, he fell and swung at me from the floor. It was pathetic and ugly. We fought, closing the door quietly so his kids would not know. He was incoherent for the most part. He went out and told his kids, after I had begged him not to. They called their mom, she was on her way. They sobbed and I held them. Then they left. It was just me and him.

I had never been so alone in my life. I had to get his shoes on to get him to the car, I knew he had to go to the hospital. He was not making any sense. But then, he decided to confess everything to me. He told me about the three other women he had been sleeping with. He told me about how they would leave right before I came in. He told me about what they had done to him, what he had done to them. I fell to my knees, for the first time that day, but not the last. He was telling me he had to confess because he was dying. He was going to “Sit on the floor and die”, over and over he said this. I have no idea how I got him into the car, but I did.

I started going in and out of reality then. I was concentrating with all my energy on getting to the freeway, but watching it all happen from a distance. I had to get him to the hospital, that’s all I kept telling myself. I put the child locks on from a very far away place. He tried to slam the car door open, for the first time. He rolled the window down and tried to jump out of the car while I was doing about 55 on the way to the on ramp. I have no idea how I managed to pull him in. Later, I would notice that several of my nails were broken down pass the quick, but not then. He tells me all the people he has had sex with, all the relationships and the lies. He confesses so many lies. I think I cried out, or moaned, or maybe it was in my head. Maybe it was him trying to jump out of the car again at 80 MPH this time. Again, no idea how I pulled him in. Tears started then, and would not end for several months except for brief stints.

Finally we got to the hospital. It was only 15 minutes, but it felt like I had been driving and fighting for hours. Pulling up to the emergency department, I start being able to think more clearly. I made it, we are here. Relief is so close, but he won’t get out. Oh my god, HE WON”T GET OUT! I go to his side, open the door and try to get him out. I start dry heaving. I am still pulling on him. My fingers are so sore! Where is my strength? I can’t get him out! I start yelling for help, but no one comes. I have no idea if it was minutes or hours. I can’t get him out, he had both hands on the seat. I jump back in the car, he is still going on about dying and telling me I am the devil. I drive to the parking structure and of course there is no parking that I can see. I have to go around again to find one. He still won’t get out, I pull on his shoulders and fight with his seatbelt. My heart is getting cold and my anger is melting into panic. It’s creeping in from around the field of my vision. I start pulling on him again, I am shaking. I can’t stop shaking! My hands are sore and I am dizzy and I am starting to get tunnel vision and I can not get him out! My breath catches in my chest and I can’t exhale. I see a security guard in the parking lot, my heart starts pounding. I stand up to look at him, the door slams. I run to the guard and tell him through a choking voice, “I have someone in the car that won’t get out, he is a danger to himself and others, please help me!” The guard says he will “call someone”….wait, what the hell is he saying? Who is going to call? Can this be happening? I try to remain calm, I tell the guard I have to go check on him. From about 10 feet away I know something is wrong. I run to the door, my hands slam the window, I stop breathing.

I don’t know I whose wailing I heard, mine or his. I opened the door before he could lock it. There is blood, (oh my god so much blood), I call for help again, “He has cut his wrists, help me!” His arm is open and I can see bone. His pocket knife still rests in his right hand. His eyes are huge, but weirdly not afraid. I am afraid for both of us. Blood covers his hands, his arm, his leg, he is bleeding on the car seat and gear shift. I yell for help again. They show up behind me finally. Two security guards, they ask if I want the police. I stare, it is all going too fast and too slow at the same time. I ask again to help me get him out. They look in at him. They put on gloves. I back away. They won’t help him get out of the car, they said “All we can do is talk to him.” But, “I need help” I say again…quietly. They talk to him, I understand no words. Finally he gets out. He starts to swing at them, they grab him and walk him inside. I don’t know how I got inside, the guards talk to the admissions desk, he starts fighting again. The world spins and I fall off. They take him back quickly and send me away.

I find myself back in the parking garage. I don’t know how I got there, but I follow the blood back to my car, because I can’t remember where I parked. I fumble with keys, fuzzy grey shadows close in. I drop to my knees. Again. I can’t breath. I am so alone. I sob then, wretched sobbs choking out of my throat. No one comes to help me. Eventually I go numb. I get in the car, the blood winks at me from its assigned places. I have phone calls to make, I have to clean the car. All feeling stops.

I find out later that he had been drinking 6 to 7 bottles of 24 hour acting cough syrup for weeks now. I somehow hear the words psychotic break. I hear the word overdose. I hear the words from nurses and doctors and therapists. I hear the words and do what they tell me and try to get through each agonizing second. Finally I hear the words I am sorry. I hear the words but do not understand the words.

The rest of that winter was bitter and mean. Pollution choked everything, it was either sickly yellow or grey all winter long. He said so many words, so many promises that would be broken, just as I would break again and again. It was so cold outside, the inversion made it dark around 4pm. The air was heavy and cloying. More cough syrup bottles, empty. More cough pills taken. More receipts found from Walgreens, I know what he bought. Even after everything, he still kept using it. I caught him again so many times, all of them blur together now, and the memories take on the sick, heavy feeling of inversion. That winter wore on and on.

I do not feel the way I once did. My failing health rapidly escalated after that winter. I could not keep up. I asked for help. I got none. His family left him to me to take care of. Friends told me to leave and then left me. So many pieces of me died off that winter, wilted and covered in sharp crystals, disappearing in my hands. I planted seeds that spring that never grew.