My denial has been rivaling only hers and I've been thinking I should get this story out in black and white somewhere. It's become obvious I can't keep it a secret anymore as the stink is starting to leak out of our front door. No one else really knows what's been going on here, and I've really held out hope that things would change. It becomes increasingly difficult to believe this life is actually happening or how anyone can be so twisted and dishonest, yet here it is--right across the room from me pleading to be able to stay here for another six months after I gave her yet another deadline to find a job and clean up in a week.
I just called her it, and maybe that's appropriate. It just sits there spewing stories I'm supposed to believe, and at one point did. It has worked about six months in the three and a half years we've been together. It has maxed out credit cards and has figured out a way to get into my bank account. I think she feels intensely intelligent because she knows how to acquire many prescriptions from many sources, and that she's managed to keep me hostage this long.
Lately it's higher power appears to be a combination of Adderol and Ambien. I guess it's supposed to be more respectable than the old painkillers. It was her choice a few weeks ago when I shook out her purse, and apparently still her choice of buzz a week ago after I came home from a few days of Army training and found her glazed over on the couch.
"I'm not high honey," she responded to my glare into her foggy eyes. It was the same thing I heard a few weeks earlier before the shakedown, and of course, soon thereafter followed by "I'm done with the drugs honey--I love you, and god has got good things in store for us. You don't have to worry about me."
Oh good, I thought. That must mean she's going to find a job, and start attending meetings again and maybe even stop wasting money on stuff we don't need. All things I've asked of her many times in the last couple of years. (I do the cooking and the grocery shopping and try to keep us within a budget while eating in a somewhat healthy manner).
So back to last Friday, (the day before my birthday) I got home about 10 p.m. after the flight and an almost four-hour drive home. I knew she was wasted again but I was too tired to fight. I do well with a 20-minute nap and layed my head down on a couch pillow. I woke up to her running around with a blanket and a flashlight claiming Ally Gato, our cat, had gotten outside. A minute later, she was in telling me how the cat always laid under my car when she got out at her parents' house (where she stayed for awhile while I was deployed for a year). I have yet to see the cat try to get outside since I've been back for a couple months, but anyway...we've already established I'll believe anything. A few minutes later she came in and said there's a dead dog under your car. "Can you help me put it on this blanket." I didn't bite, and kept drinking my microwaved coffee.
