I am in love with a meth addict
I am 44 years old and have never been in love until I met, who I thought and hoped, was my soulmate, 2 years ago. I love this man with all my heart but found out that he is a meth addict, and a porn addict. I didn't know what to do when I found out so I reacted in the worst possible way and in a way that was NOT who I am. I become someone I am not ever since I met him. We lived together. He became abusive, I kicked him out. He begged to come back months later, saying he quit meth, I let him move back, same thing happened and I kicked him out again. We were broken up since March. I agreed to start seeing him again a couple weeks ago because "he quit." Well he lied. Again. I have never cried so much in my whole life. My days are consumed with wanting to know how I can help him or save him and I know I can't. He blames ME, he calls me names, he is possessive, so many things. I am not speaking to him right now and I have blocked him from contacting me because he sends texts, IM's e-mails, calls etc... I had to put a stop to it once and for all. But I love him. And I want an "us." I just wish there was something I could do but I think, at this point, I should let that dream go and realize that he is not the one for me. Does anyone have any kind of input to help me feel better? To help me feel like I am not the cause of us not making it? He even told me that he consumes MORE meth BECAUSE of me... I don't understand it... help?
I agree... find an Al-Anon meeting in your local area today and GO!!
You will find kindred spirits and a wealth of knowledge and healing await you when you walk through those doors. Listen and learn... open up as you are able... get phone numbers of other members and reach out to them...keep going because it works!
If you need a real world perspective of someone who loved a meth addict, I did love one once...She was my mother. I tried everything a 0-12 year old boy could try to fix her, but after 12 years, dealing with emotional abuse from her in which she would often threaten to kill herself daily in response to my requests to get help, physical abuse from her many boyfriends (I know firsthand the meaning of the words "beaten senseless", and "slapped silly", although often her boyfriends would attack me with closed fists), death threats, was shot at twice (fortunately never hit), homeless four times for prolonged periods before my twelfth birthday, it all came to a head in the late winter of my freshman year of high school. We were living in a abandoned construction site in which I slept on the ground with only my clothes to keep me warm over an especially hard winter. Because I ate lunch at school, I wasn't allowed to touch the food at home, and I was literally (and medically according to the doctor when I got away) starving to death. We were in Arkansas, in tbe Ozarks, and I as a transplant from California (to escape her boyfriend's warrants) was not prepared for what was an extremely harsh winter. My clothes earned me a lot of ridicule at school, with regards to their cleanliness, and I had often washed them in the bathtub using water from a well that was on the property. I remember crying, as I was trying to chip away at the ice that had formed over the top of the water, trying to get my clothing clean for the upcoming monday morning of abuse on the bus for being a "scumbag" as I had been labelled. My mother and her boyfriend, who had staked out their own room by the fireplace in the living room, were oblivious, as they often bounced between meth and who knows what else. Her boyfriend at the time had taken to beating me, again, senseless, every day, in order to "toughen" me up, and she was pretty much oblivious to this as long as she got her fix regularly enough.
On Valentine's Day, next to having to chip through a solid sheet of ice to even wash my filthy clothes, I was subjected to yet another of one of the most painful experiences in my life. Everyone had recieved a large number of valentines, except of course for me, and I had only received two.
The first one was a big flowery looking heart shaped card. When I opened it, on the inside was written in crayon "Wash your clothes, scumbag." As I read this it became increasingly clear that most of the guys in the classroom were watching me for any sign of weakness, anything they could use to tease me more.
And so, I kept myself locked up, not allowing any emotion out as I calmly opened the second card, which came with a rose, and simply said, "From T". Not knowing how to react, I simply kept my composure to avoid giving a show to the idiots around me. Later I was told by a girl's friend that she had sent it to me, but I didn't even allow myself to react to that, worried that it was some kind of test. I was in my own version of hell. When I got home that night, my mother and her boyfriend were passed out already, and I walked into the woods to be by myself.
I confronted my mother about the situation the following morning, telling her that we both needed to be away from the situation and back in California with our family instead of starving and freezing in a construction site in the Ozarks...she threatened to kill herself again, and by this time I had been so beaten down by the situation that I told her that she could do what she wanted, and that I was leaving. She caved to this, and a few days later she and I were in California, where she was telling me that she would be back in a few days to pick me up. I never saw her again, and even as she was lying to me about it, I knew she wouldn't be back, and as wrong as it was to feel that way, I felt relieved. That was 23 years ago. As if it were yesterday. Meth destroyed my parents, both of them. My father, a Jehovah's witness, attempted to stab me with a fork when I was 16 and stabbed his own brother in the eye with a knife (he survived). He has spent the majority of my life bouncing in and out of prison for both using and dealing meth. Meth Kills is an understatement. It literally destroys entire families.
I'm with you. I am married to a meth addict and I, too, have become someone I'm not. I find that when he uses he blames me.. he hates me. I've become the obstacle between him and the drug and he has also lashed out at me.. so much, that I've become clinically depressed and suffer from nightmares. My husband also has the porn addiction and that's due to the meth use. Meth is an extremely sexual drug for the male user (as my husband has explained it to me). I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you want to talk about it. A few friend's of mine decided to ambush me with an "intervention". They told me to leave me husband, that he'll never change, that he doesn't love me and that he only cares about himself. Hearing those words, I feel that they are true.. but I'm a fighter.. I can't give up on the one I love. I told them, "Death or Jail".. when one of those two things happens, that's when I'll call my marriage a failure.. I've since forced my husband to pick a meeting (any meeting).. He chose AA so that he wouldn't be around a bunch of tweakers but could still handle his addiction. I also stopped drinking for a week entirely so I could support his total sobriety.. He was proud of himself, was totally embracing the sober mentality.. BUT he was still using (and lying about it). I forced him to go to meeting high. (He didn't want to go). He got there and felt ashamed, begged for a sponsor, and now he calls him everyday. He's been sober for 3 days now and I'm not ready to celebrate his success.. I'm still fucking pissed.. and bitter, really bitter.. I've been lied to so many times. It takes a strong person to be in love with an addict. And it's your choice... just don't forget yourself in the process. I think I can eventually have a successful life with my addict but it's going to take time and it's not going to come without some heartache. Be strong.