Your Love Is Like A Black Hole

Josh, aka "Me with a penis" is back at it again.  I've told you about him many, many times over since he's been an off and on thing with me for the last 7 months.  After all the shitty things we've done to each other, you'd think it would be easy to say "adios motherfucker" and be done with him.  As a matter of fact, I think I've said that on multiple occasions, as Jay-Z's On To The Next One plays over and over in my mind.  I've deleted his phone number out of my phone and erased most thoughts of him, including the good ones.

When I'm seeing someone else, I barely give him a second thought.  Sure, I can no longer hear Eminem & Rihanna sing Love The Way You Lie without wanting to stab myself (because that song is soooo us), but I get along ok without him.  But then it just so happens that whoever I'm seeing I'm not happy with or they dump me or whatever and my attention immediately turns back to him.

He is my addiction......  Actually, we're each others addiction.  I can go a month without talking to him and it never fails that I'll get that drunk text in the middle of the night with something along the lines of "You know I love you and never should have let you go."  or "You always did everything to make me a better person and look at me now."  Quite honestly my drunk messages to him are usually more along the lines of "I'm drunk, wanna fuck?"  Mostly because if I need sex, I know he's sure to be down with it.

Things changed with us last Friday.  See, Thursday night while I was on my date, he was blowing up my phone wanting me to come party with him.  I finally had to turn off my phone because it got so distracting.  When I looked at my phone I had 10 text messages from him begging me to come and get him.  I had 3 missed calls, but they had stopped around midnight.  I assumed that he went home and passed out, so I didn't bother texting him back since it was late. 

My phone starts ringing at 5am.  I missed the first call since I had just gone to bed at 3, but it kept ringing and ringing.  I finally find the phone and it's him.  Why is he calling me at 5am?  My first thought is that he's in jail, so of course I answer it.  What I get is incoherent babble about how much he loves me and his life will never be complete without me, but I need to come and find him right now because he doesn't know where he is.  What the hell is going on?  This isn't drunk Josh, something else is going on.  After 45 minutes I finally manage to get that he had been drinking since 5:30 on Thursday and decided that his life sucked so much he was going to go out and buy some coke because back when he was doing coke, he was happy and life was good.  WHAT.THE.FUCK?

Josh has always been honest with me about his addictions.  He told me about his past and his battles with cocaine.  Given his personal problems and problems growing up I can't say I was surprised with that revelation.  Me?  I have an addictive enough personality, so I, for the most part, stay away from drugs. Cocaine?  Has never even crossed my mind.  I can't even put allergy nose spray in my nose, let alone snorting anything.  I just can't even fathom doing it.  Ewwwwww.

I had to get up and get ready for work, but Josh wanted me to come to his house, because he finally realized that he was home.  I've missed enough work lately with sick kids and my own laziness, so I told him I couldn't come over.  He cried and told me he needed me because I was the only one that cared.  Fuck.  I manage to get him off the phone, get the baby dressed and ready and I'm out the door to work. 

By 9am Josh had called me 26 times, mostly to tell me the same things over and over.  I tried to talk to him and tell him that everything was going to be ok.  He wasn't buying it.  Finally I made arrangements to take half a day off and go sit with him until he came down.  I figured worst case scenario, I would drive him to the hospital or the local crisis center.  I left work at 11 and hadn't heard a peep out of him in over an hour.  I'll admit, I was scared pulling up to his house that I'd find him dead.  His roommates were out of town, so if he did OD, there was nobody there to find him or even try to prevent it.

I had told him earlier to make sure the door was unlocked.  It wasn't.  It was open, but the storm door was still locked.  I knocked and rang the bell, my stomach creeping up into my throat the longer time went on without him answering the door.  Finally he staggered out of the hallway and told me to come in.  I told him the door was locked and he didn't understand me.  Locked motherfucker, locked.  Oh yeah, he said, then finally let me in.

I don't think I've ever personally witnessed someone looking as bad as he did when I walked in.  His eyes....  I can't even really explain it.  They were bloodshot, but more than that.  They were solid pink/red which made the green stand out more than usual.  His whole face was red.  There were marks from where his nose had been bleeding.  In the first 10 minutes I was there, he was in the bathroom throwing up three different times.  I surveyed the rest of the house.  It was trashed.

While he was still in the bathroom, I laid down on the bed.  I was tired from being out so late the night before.  When  he came in the room he asked me what I had to say about the whole thing.  I told him nothing, that it was his life and he was going to live it how he wanted.  He laid down in the bed and curled up with me promptly passing out.  I was happy I didn't have to listen to any more details of his night and fell asleep too.

Two hours later he woke up looking a whole lot better and asking why I was there.  I told him all the things he told me earlier and he jumped up out of bed freaking out about money.  He remembered he came back to the house for money and took everything he had saved up out with him.  Great, I thought.  He took count of the money and realized that he had spent over $400 the night before.  I thought he was going to cry. He had been saving that money for a new car since he had gotten his new job.  "It's only money," he said after he thought about what had happened for a few minutes. 

We spent the rest of the day laying around watching tv and dozing in and out of sleep.  4pm rolled around and I had to go pickup Little E, so I told him I'd see him later.  Apparently in part of his out of his mind state he called his mother and told her everything.  I felt bad he told her because she is ultra controlling of him and probably the reason he's as fucked up as he is.  He had to go over to her house and stay that night because he was driving her to the airport for vacation in the morning.  I knew she would tear him apart and she did.

I texted him later just to make sure everything was ok and that she didn't cart him off to rehab right then and there.  She didn't, but I'm sure only because she was leaving for vacation.  He told me that he was going to get help for his alcohol problem when she got back.  WOW, that's gonna be tough.  If people like us could handle things in moderation we wouldn't have the problems we do.  Moderation isn't a word in our vocabulary.  It's balls to the wall or nothing.  I'm ok with nothing if I'm with the right company.  Hell, before I met the ex-husband I didn't even keep alcohol in the house. 

Saturday night I hadn't planned on doing anything.  I was worn out from Friday and didn't wanna commit to anything.  It was Brandon's first homecoming, so I had to be home to make sure he was ready and looking spiffy.  I'll post a picture of how proud I was at how much he's grown up, but I don't think this is the appropriate post for all that..... 

By 9 I was happy just sitting out on the deck chillin listening to music when my phone rang.  It was Josh.  He wanted me to come and hang out with him at the local watering hole.  I wasn't having it because it was obvious that he was already drunk.  I reminded him that I needed to stay home so that I could pick up Brandon at 11, so he asked me if I would come pick him up because he hadn't driven to the bar.  I was reluctant because I didn't want to get into an "us" argument with him.  Finally, I gave in and went and got him and brought him back to the house.

We sat out back and talked about us and how dysfunctional we are.  I thought it was agreed upon that we could never be more than friends at this point because of how downright nasty we've been to each other in the last 7 months.  By 10:30 he was passed out in bed and I sat there contemplating the whole thing while waiting to pickup Brandon.

How can I have such strong feelings for someone who makes me feel like such shit sometimes?  I've never been a girl that lets ANYONE talk to her like he does to me.  Maybe if he's not drinking he'll act right.....  I didn't know what to think about the whole thing.  In one part of my mind, I really like him, actually, I'm probably a little in love with him, but the other part of my mind says "HOLD THE FUCK UP, Tara you try to be a fixer of impossible to fix people, just stop this nonsense now!!"  With the events of Friday still stuck in my head, I was thinking, for whatever reason, we can't give each other up.  I need him as much as he needs me and maybe this is where I'm supposed to be to help him right now..... I went to bed confused and probably a little hurt over the whole thing.

Sunday morning I dropped him off at his car because I had to drive to Cincinnati for soccer.  Since Sunday we've talked and texted pretty much all day every day.  I haven't seen him since Sunday morning, but then again I've been busy.  The plan tonight is that I'm hanging out with him and watching a movie.  We'll see, but I do know this for sure, he's not going to bring me a half eaten burrito......