Everything came to a head last night, and I’m sitting here both laughing and crying because I think that I can see an end of some sorts in sight now. A real end, this time.
Now we’re gonna do it my way…
This whole story began and has now ended, with a lie. A lie that is called meth. Meth promises its user an escape. And, like most of the promises from hell, it is seeded in the truth, but it is warped and twisted, deceptive, and evil. Meth makes you forget about your problems; it gives you some added strength to get things done (you think); it bestows a sense of happiness (ignorance), power (over absolutely nothing), and hope (in getting your next fix). And then, like only a true enemy can do, it seeps out of your body, taking with it all the gifts it had lent you, and leaving in its wake even more chaos, destruction, problems, and hopelessness than you had had before.
In October 2011, Chef had a friend die in a motorcycle accident. Chef had struggled with drug addiction as a younger man, and except for a brief skirmish with it when we first got together over 23 years ago, he had remained clean all these years. But coupled with some health issues, a midlife crisis, and a general dissatisfaction with his career choices, he succumbed to the temptation to just use a little pick-me-up to get him home from a very hard funeral. Unlike the first time, the drug took a firm hold on him almost immediately, and he was simply unable to stop.
All prayers are appreciated; so will the rehab.
Throughout the time since then, I’ve been completely dumbstruck by just how different the man seemed. While he had flaws all along, it was terrifying to see those same flaws turn so completely exaggerated. I’ve always thought that he was a bit selfish, but meth would take that flaw and magnify it out of all proportion, and some of the things that I watched this man do and some of the words that have come out of his mouth have left me struggling to comprehend how someone could ever justify it to themselves, no matter how strung out they were. I was even more dismayed when he completely stopped even bothering to justify himself to anyone at all anymore. Bernice was what Chef called meth, and the affair that Chef & Bernice had was tantamount to a very warped Gone With the Wind, with Chef announcing that as God as his witness, he’d never be sober again, and Bernice announcing that “Frankly, my dear Bird, I don’t give a damn”. Bernice ruled his every word, thought, and action, and over the year and half I watched them, I learned a great deal about the verse : Out of the heart, the mouth speaks. Every slimy, crappy, evil thing that can be laid up in a person’s heart came pouring out of Chef’s mouth, and after months of allowing it to hurt me, I was finally able to look Bernice in the eye and let her know, I’m on to you, beeotch. I see you. More importantly, God does too. It ain’t over till it”s over, babe.
The Bible tells us that God works all things to His good, and this story is no exception. Since the split up, T and I have come to understand, forgive, and then to work together, to try to help Chef. Where I came so close to hating this girl for the pain her part in all of this had inflicted on me and my family, I’ve now come to rely on her as a partner who cares about Chef too, and she’s been invaluable as another soldier in this war against this horrible drug called meth. It would seem that our efforts have finally paid off, and today I can happily and hopefully announce, Chef is in rehab!!!
After a particularly nasty week involving Chef, I had pretty much withdrawn from wanting to see, hear, or even think about, him at all. I had heard all the same rhetoric from him about getting the help he would need to stop a million times, and yet he’d never followed through. I’d already lived through his affair with T, and the roller coaster ride of him saying all the right things to people, including me, that we so wanted to hear, but yet were in direct conflict with what he told someone else. He would tell T she was the love of his life, then come to my apartment and call her names and say he was stuck but was trying to find a way to come home again to me, the only love of his life. But my hope in him had eventually withered away, and it had become much easier to accept that he was truly gone. The more I pulled away, the more he would fight to keep me. And he was doing the same to T. It would seem that once we were both gone, that would have left him truly alone and desperate enough to finally get the help he needed. Ah, but no. Instead, he started a relationship with Sassy (not her real name) the Drug Dealer, instead, and when I found out he was getting the crap for free from this winner, my head about exploded. At least T was clean, if naive. But a drug dealer for a girlfriend, though?
If you read my last post, you know what my opinion of this person is, so I won’t bore you with all the details. Let’s just say that it took me about 4.2 minutes to trash that happy little budding romance, and I don’t feel a tad guilty about it. I know there are now a few human beings on earth that say my name with contempt, but frankly, I couldn’t care less. You mess with the bull, you get the horns, my friend.
Last night, I got a panicked message from Chef saying he was dying. I didn’t freak out or anything. He’s always telling me that. But this time, I felt like something was actually wrong, and I headed over to his house. After meth-induced psychosis drama, I was able to get his schizo butt to the hospital, and because of his suicide threats, I was able to get him committed involuntarily to treatment, for a whopping 3 days. Both T and I prayed, and held our breath to see what the psychiatrist would determine. If the psychiatrist recommended he stay longer, he would have to. Sure enough, he was told today that he’s in for the long-haul.
T and I are working frantically getting his home packed up and his affairs in order so that once clean, he can walk out of the doors to a well-managed, well-organized life that won’t overwhelm him. After speaking to him today, I feel even a little more hopeful since he sounded somewhat more like himself, and while sad and ashamed, he was able to crack a weak joke here and there. I feel a lot of sadness for him right now, knowing myself how hard it can be to laugh again. But he will.
In the meantime, Sassy has been broken up with via text message from Chef’s phone, kindly but firmly. I doubt ole Chef is going to thank me or T any time soon, but he did let Sassy down gently and kindly, yet firmly, thanks to T. Today, another dealer and I came to an understanding about how things will be going down next time someone offers him a free date with Bernice. I figure by the time he gets out, T and I will have cleansed the leeches and junkies out of his life permanently. Man, I love technology…Thank you, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell!!
I want to ask everyone who prays if they would keep Chef in their prayers, and thank you all for hanging with me. Hopefully, we’ve finally arrived at how this story ends.