Myself In Faith

I have verified what I knew was true, but now I am certain. I couldn’t reach him, even when he said he would have his phone with him.  7:38, I called for twenty minutes.  He said he would be walking at Watkin’s Mill.  Family locator said he wasn’t.  It said he was in North KC.  I called, and ran FL again after about 5 minutes.  It said he was near the airport.  I called and called, no answer, and again.  I ran FL again, again it said near the airport.  I turned to A and said ‘well, it looks like he is with a whore at an airport hotel.  She will be done with him soon, so he will call just about 8:00 PM, when he has to be gone for her next John to show up.’  Sure enough, he called at EXACTLY 8PM.  He had just checked his phone, he said.  He had left in the Jeep, he said.  He just got into the Jeep from his walk, he said.  So I told him what FL said.  He repeated he was coming from walking.  So I said that I would run it again and call him back.  FL showed him now just North of the airport.  I called and told him he could prove to me he had just come from Watkins by dropping by the house, it would only take about 10 minutes, and when I heard the sound of the dogs I would know he was telling the truth.  His voice began to panic, and he said how no he was on his way to get something to eat, so I said again, and he said he was almost to Liberty, so I reiterated what he had told me about just now coming from the Mill, there was no way he could already be at 152. 

I would not accept the lies.  I stated my truth, what he had been doing, that he was not where he claimed to be, that he was lying.

He became very angry, and hung up.  He turned off his phone.  He kept it off all that night, and all the next day.  When I saw him, he said nothing, but his eyes were filled with hate.

So, I have my proof.  His lies, and his reactions, and my FL, and the phone number to a 25 year old hooker in his phone log.  And the soulless, rage filled stare of the addiction, daring me to say a damn thing so he could attack me and further justify all his acts of hate, his abuse, his damage.  He, it, was nice to me all day before that, just because he, it, knew he was on his way to get laid and feed his addiction and he felt good and relaxed and guilty.  It is amazing the way the addiction doesn’t care, only lives to feed itself.  It doesn’t bother to hide anymore. 

I love him, my husband, who was a man, very much.  I must accept how much I love him, difficult given the pain I am in.  That is why it hurts so terribly to see the addiction eat him alive, because I do still love him deeply.  I’m not sure who I love, or what, but he has no ability to love me.  The addiction IS his brain now, and it only survives to keep surviving.  The body of the man the addiction must live within is now nothing more than a shell, a zombie, a flesh puppet to feed its unquenchable lust.

I love the man he thought he was, the man he so wanted to be, the man he could only pretend because he didn’t know how to really become that grown up thing. 

It is time to work on the book.  I think that it the primary focus the cards are telling me.  I will keep my eyes and heart open for Conchobar, but I think it only means no compromise, do what I need entirely and think nothing of what Cheating Fox Boy wants.

Today, I am calm.  I was terrified to come home, but I was pretty certain he would say nothing, face nothing, go to his room and hide.  And he did.  Addicts become so predictable because they turn their entire lives into a stereotype of living.  No flexibility, no real thinking, no desire beyond the next fix.  I will love him from a distance as he falls into his endless night, for I see no way he can pull himself out again.  Sometimes, for a moment, a real person tries to communicate with me, like a hostage trying to blink a message beneath the hawk eyes of his captor, but the addiction is by far the stronger of his broken selves, and it asserts itself before he can find a way to free his hands and flee his dungeon.  So, there he shall remain, for he fears the long, twisted passage back to light more than he fears the familiar, hateful pleasure of his torture.

False recovery.  He no longer managed to fool me with his pretense of love and his stop/start reaching out, and his half truths and innuendoes of reconciliation.  The addict has won at last.  It has flung up all its walls when I came too close and wouldn’t allow it room to draw me sideways into its web of deceit again.

I am scared, and sad, and lonely.  But this moment I am strong, and opportunities may yet, must yet, will present themselves to me, soon.

No compromise.  No listening to his half hearted attempts at communication, or reconciliation.  No tricking myself that maybe, just maybe, he actually means anything he says about caring, and improving, and recovery. 

I see you, addict, addiction, soul-sucking beast. 

I see you. 

There is nothing left to see.

I fear, with the addict in full control, he hasn’t long before he loses his job.  He has been putting in only the bare minimum of time and effort, coming late, taking a full lunch, leaving exactly on time.  The addiction cannot be satisfied. It is growing increasingly reckless.  Soon, it will make that fatal mistake.  Soon, it will devolve into women with diseases, unsafe locations, porn at work, strippers over lunch.  Soon, he will finally take on the physical aspect of that soulless addict, insides rotted and eaten away.

Maybe, I will have a chance to see my husband one last time before the addiction completes swallowing him whole.  Maybe I will have one last chance to tell that sad man that I love him, that I forgive him, truly forgive him for not being strong enough to overcome such a horrible fate.  It isn’t his fault he was such a sensitive person.  It isn’t his fault his family could not nurture such a beautiful soul.  This was the path his soul chose to travel, and I must guess this is the ending it was needing.  I will miss him for a very long time, because I truly love that person, what I saw in him that day we met, his true self, and it is so terribly hard to watch him writhing in his final death throes.

Goodbye my beloved husband. I looked into your eyes, and see only addict glaring back at me. I will mourn you as one who has died, a dearest friend who will never come again to me and sit with me and love with me. I will sing a death song for you, and cry for you, and be a mourner at your graveside.  Someday I will learn to thank you for the lessons of pain my soul chose to learn beneath the whip of your addiction.  Goodbye, my beautiful husband. I will release your spirit unto the void, let you go from my life at last.

The addiction shall survive, until it destroys even his physical form.

Long live King Addict.



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