Although my fiancé now doesn’t do drugs and barely drinks, my past is riddled with men who did, and still do.
(In fact, I think it’s because of this past that my fiance is not, and never has been, an addict of any kind.) I broke up with my first love in college because of his rampant cocaine use.
I knew that this crowd wasn’t the type I would have invited over for Sunday dinner.
It was an insidious life, filled with contradictory highs and Spike Lee moments of . I could stay up for hours drinking, snorting, and smoking with whatever person of the week was there.
I knew being involved in a drug operation was unethical, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It made me feel good, like I mattered — it made sense. Playing poker, Yahtzee, or just talking shit about shit. I loved getting the bindle, chopping it up, and sifting out the lines into perfect matchsticks. I could start tasting it minutes before I would even have it in my possession.
Whether it was Opie, or my first love, or the severe alcoholic I dated before my fiance, or the men I dated in between, my lifetime of dating men with substance abuse problems has taught me a lot. The alcoholic and I showed up to a work — that’s right, dinner after an afternoon of drinking. Before the dinner was over, he had offended most of the people at the table, dumped not one, but two drinks on the woman beside him, then, because he only at dinner, passed out in his soup when we went to Chinatown to get food.
The busboys had to help me get him out of the restaurant and flag down a cab — a cab that I had to pay an extra for, because the driver feared my drunken fella would wake up and vomit in his car. It’s awful to think that someone you’re dating, someone you scenarios, either cash had been taken directly from my wallet or my credit cards were used at a liquor store.