Discovering he is a crack addict
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I'll give you all I got to give, if you say you love me too.
I may not have a lot to give, but what I got I'll give to you.
- Lennon/McCartney: Can't Buy Me Love
Mostly I've bitched about problems with Charles to my friends and kept the dirt off the web. Civility demands he have some privacy. But when certain limits are passed civility be damned. Honestly I didn't want to be a relationship bore. The web is altogether too full of the wickedness of transiently significant others. Too often the breakup seems to stem from something like one eating the other's long husbanded snack food.
The guy that I've long thought of as my “life partner” herein becomes The Boyfriend or TB for short. I sincerely hate the locution “the wife” or “the boyfriend.” Why not just say my wife or Jeremy? Using a generic article makes the person sound like something you found among your junk mail. I'm reducing mine to TB to keep his name out of these entries. If I were feeling vengeful I could easily insure that any Google search would link his name to his addiction.
A few months back TB asked to borrow the debit card. It was about twenty-four hours before he returned. With the money I'd given him, he took out of the account and borrowed from one of his friends to replace what he'd debited – not that he did – my guess was that he'd blown about $500 in three days.
He'd taken to begging trivial sums. Never much but so often it became a nag. Soon all I wondered when I saw him was how much he'd want. Not that I could see a reason to deny him seven or fifteen bucks here or there.
Until the night he slipped the debit card from my wallet while I slept. I woke up and went to the porch to smoke a cigarette. TB assumed I knew of his foul craft confessed. He'd take about eighty dollars out and it was already spent. In less than an hour.
Within a few days while one hand was, well this isn't the a sex confession weblog, we'll not worry where his other hand went into my pocket and extracted a twenty dollar bill.
Once I caught him in these acts I started taking advantage of the telephone's ability to find out which number he'd really last dialed. No, he hadn't called a cab company (when we had no working car). We don't have speed dialing so I knew he had no friend whose phone number was “22.”
When confronted TB said he was buying hash. That was pretty easy to believe. Cannabinol has always been TB's biggest weakness. Until I met him I never thought pot could do anybody harm. It sends TB off into the extremes of hypomania.
As his begging continued and the days seemed only more tormented I pressed him. Cutting out the fancy maneuverers he engaged in he said he thought the hash he'd been buying was laced with something. OK, stop buying it. Actually he was supposed to have stopped buying any marijuana.
But his importunate requests for bits of cash didn't stop. Three or four times a day he needed money. I'd made sure he had cigarettes, soda, food.
Finally I said, sorry, no more. Then he confessed he owed drug dealers money. TB said he'd bought drugs on credit. I'd pay. But he'd run up fresh debts. If he had at all.
The worst came when I went to the pawn shop to get out the keyboard I'd bought him. When I refused to give him anything with which to pay the latest 'debt' with he again pawned the keyboard in less than an hour after I'd redeemed it.
Call me a fool. Really you can. You can't imagine what I'd said to myself.
To him I said no more money. Period.
Go into detox and rehab or go away. Or I'll go away. TB couldn't survive a month on his own. Give his remarkable knack for emanating “Please help me or I will die” he might find someone at the church to help him for a short time. It wouldn't be long before his home would be the car I bought him.
And that is how we got to yesterday's story.
If I don't reply to comments
Bare with me. There's not much to say other than thanks. Sympathy, encouragement are appreciated more than you may think if I'm silent. Right now I'm gritting me teeth, girding my loins and just holding on. Luckily I'm good at that. Not that I don't wish I were elsewhere, with someone else, someone I could hold and in holding them feel some of what I want from life.
Man makes them happy 'cause man makes them toys
And after man has made everything, everything he can
You know that man makes money to buy from other man
He's lost in the wilderness
He's lost in bitterness
- James Brown: It's a Man's World
For now I've just got to be “a man” about it and go about my business.