The End.

After the second relapse while we were married, I remember Travis telling me that we could get a divorce if I wanted to. I looked at him with complete surprise and honestly, I was a little bit offended. How could he even mention the D word? Is that what he wanted? He told me he didn’t.

May 2013- Sitting on our porch, I’m thinking that maybe that’s what needs to happen, but I’m so unsure. So scared of what the rest of my future may look like at this point. I’m not crying and I’m not angry. I’m so numb. I tell him that this time, it has to be different. I don’t know what will happen with us. However, he needed to figure out his plan because I was done. He had to figure out what the hell was going to work for him. He has to figure it out on his own and do it for himself.

Later that week, he finds an inpatient drug rehabilitation center about 4 hours away from where we live. Then we make a plan for him to go live with his parents until he goes to rehab. I’m going to go live with my mom. We decide to move out of our home. We packed as much as we could quickly, then on moving day, we had family and friends come over and help finish packing and move us out. My mom, my stepdad, his mom, his dad, my best friend and her fiancé busted their asses that day to help us. It was an emotionally charged day. The house slowly became empty, one box after another until I was sweeping the living room for the final time. Everyone was now just standing around in the barren living room. Travis and I looked at each other as if we both knew it was time to say goodbye. We walked towards each other and hugged for what seemed like an eternity. We both had tears streaming down our face.

Thinking about that moment today, in 2020, I still feel it. I can feel both of our hearts breaking.

We talked on the phone every single day. We didn’t quite know what was going to happen. We just took it day by day. He did go to rehab (on his parent’s dime). When he spoke of his experiences there, they were so positive. He was healing and getting better. Meanwhile, I’m reexperiencing what it means to focus on myself. I started running again. I started reading again; mostly self-help books and books full of humor. I’m healing and getting better.

Then he asks me to come visit him in rehab. He wants me to come to classes with him. He wants me to attend a therapy session with him. He thinks it will significantly help our relationship. I reluctantly go. I want to see him, but I’m nervous as well. There’s a part of me that was enjoying being alone.

When I arrive, Travis walks me around and introduces me to some of the friends/ acquaintances that he’s met there. They joke with him about how “hot” I am and hoop and holler when begin to enter his room, just the two of us. He closes the curtains and takes me over to the bed. We make love, but I feel only physically present. My mind is elsewhere; my emotions are jacked. I remember just lying there. He comes way before I could ever reach a climax. He apologizes and cracks a joke that it’s been too long. I tell him that it is ok, no big deal. In my head, I just wonder if he actually knows how long it’s been for me.

Over the next few days, I go to some of his classes where we listen to people tell their stories and what they’re learning at rehab. We go to an NA group meeting and we attend a therapy session with his therapist who he has praised. Unfortunately, this rehabilitation visit was ultimately what sealed my decision to leave for good.

At the N/A group meeting, I feel uncomfortable because I feel like I’m an intruder. These people want to be with people who understand them completely; people who have experienced what it’s like to be an addict. Not an outsider. I felt like I didn’t belong there. Anyway, a few people share their stories and then a older man stands up. He’s a bulky guy, looked to be in his 50s, with graying hair and a white beard. He’s sharing his experience; he was clean for 20 years. Things were amazing. His kids were happy, his wife was happy, he had made up for lost times with his family. Then one day, the desire to start using was so intense. It had taken over his mind. So he began using again. Back to square one. I thought I was listening to a happy ending, but I wasn’t. That’s when I realized…these relapses…these could be for the rest of my entire life. Things could be going great and then BAM. Back to square one.

We both met with his therapist. She has her Masters in Social Work. Very soon into the session, I was noticing the little things she was doing that were basically “tricks of the trade” if you will. Remember, I have my BSW so I could pick apart how she was leading the session and how she was trying to get me to open up which made me more closed off. It didn’t feel natural to me in a way. I felt like I was back in college, role-playing a therapy session with a client. She did do something that affected me in a big way though. She had Travis pull out a piece of paper; his “homework”. She tells me that she had him write down all of the signs that show that he was using again. So that maybe that would help clue me in on when he’s back on drugs. He starts going down the long list of signs:

Taking less care of himself (not showering, brushing teeth, etc.); Not wanting to visit with family or friends; Stop listening to music in the care; No karaoke; No singing; Not being able to sleep at night; Losing weight; No sex…

He wasn’t even halfway done with his list and tears were falling down my face. When the therapists asks me why I’m crying, I tell her. I’m not clueless to any of these signs. I’ve observed every single one. Here’s the thing though. I can see as many red flags and signs all I want. What happens when I see these and confront him? He denies it, duh. He turns it around. He says he just wants to move on and I’m not letting him. He makes me feel like shit. He makes me feel guilty. And there’s the fact that I never have proof. I just have these things in which I observed. I try to catch him red-handed and failed so many times by playing scavenger hunt every time he leaves the house. Looking for pills but only finding empty plastic bags, empty prescription bottles, empty cigarette boxes. What do I do then? I have no proof. I just wait. I wait until he is ready to admit it. Like he’s done 3 times in the past year and a half.

On my drive back home to my mom’s house, I reflect on the weekend. It was overwhelming how many emotions one could feel all at the same time. Something had changed.

The next weekend I went out with my mom. We met my mom’s old friend, Lala (not real name) at a gay bar 45 minutes away. There was a drag show happening and Lala invited us to join her. *There’s a post or two about Lala and her ex-girlfriend in my high school diary entries back in the day* She’s about 10 years younger than my mom and 10 years older than me. Anyway, I had probably a little too much to drink that night. I remember looking across the table at Lala. I had forgotten how hilarious, happy, and carefree she was. Back then, she was referred to as a “butch” lesbian. I think the new label is “stud”. I don’t know. I was never one who liked labels. People are people. Attraction is attraction. And that’s what it was for me that night. I was completely attracted to her. She felt like a magnet. After the bar closed, we all decided to go eat at some Indian cuisine restaurant. My legs kept rubbing up against hers underneath the table. I stated that I was going to go outside and smoke and she also decided she needed to as well. We didn’t smoke though. It was a full fledged make-out session on the side of the brick building. She smelt amazing. Her lips were so soft. She kissed me with so much passion.

The next night when Travis called, I told him that I was going to wait until he got out of rehab, but then I thought better. He had access to a therapist there so he could talk to her. So I told him what I had slowly figured out since we moved out of our home: I wanted a divorce.

He was quiet, but said he understood. My heart was no doubt hurting in that moment. It’s completely painful to break someone’s heart. I’ve always been one to cry when someone else is crying. To feel their pain as if it was my own. It wasn’t his heartbreak or my heartbreak. It was ours.

There will always be part of my heart that belongs to Travis. The best part about writing history is that you’ve also had time to reflect on it. Travis wasn’t a bad man. He was sweet and caring. He was funny. It wasn’t just me, but he made my family fall in love with him as well with his charming personality. Most times, it was obvious that he thought of me before anything else. He had a wonderful heart. He was extremely affectionate. Our favorite was Lazy Movie Night, we’d call it LMN for short, where we just cuddled on the couch all night. He often put me to sleep by playing with my hair.

Being older and a little wiser, I wonder every once in a while if I would’ve handled the situation differently had I been a little more mature. Would we still be together? But then, I wouldn’t have Sam now. And I can’t imagine being as happy as I am today if I hadn’t met her.