Accidental Healing....

...I'm not sure what that means, or what it even is.

I do know that it's happening...sooooooo slowly.



We could get into all the details, but I think I'll just start by saying this:

I still hurt every day from losing Eric, and I did(and still do) love him with all of my heart.



Here's our story, it's just the bare bones...but I'm sure I'll fill in the rest as time goes by:

Eric and I met at a house party celebrating our mutual friend Lug's birthday.  We met over a tray of meth; yes you did read that right, a tray of the stuff.

For whatever reason, I decided before heading to this party that I needed to Goth myself up a bit, knee high red patent platform boots, skintight jeans, black tank top, black shawl, drop dead red lipstick, smoky black eyes...yes, I knew how to play that part well.  I went with a friend and her boyfriend, and we headed there.  Eric opened the door, I will NEVER forget the moment I saw him, shaved head, mustache/goatee, white beater, black jean shorts, and piercings galore.  He was gorgeous, and I'm pretty sure my heart skipped a couple of beats when I saw him.  He asked who we were, I told him we knew Lug and he shut the door in my face, no lie...he just shut the door.  We really didn't know what to do, so we waited.  It was only a minute before he came back and invited us in.  That's when I saw the giant tray of meth being pulled out from under the couch.  Apparently, that was how they rolled here in this house, and I really had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I found out later that this was a drug house; Eric's mom lived there too.  That was how I met her, she called down from the upstairs to ask if someone would go buy her a six-pack.  I said I would.  The night went on, and by the end of it, Eric had given me his number and I was sure we were soulmates.

A couple of days later, I invited Eric over to swim in my pool.  Him and his buddy came by and swam and smoked and drank.  I never realized that I was an addicts dream come true.  We hung out for a couple of days, and then I, being the exemplary person I was, invited him to live with me.  He happily accepted, mostly just to get out of his mom's haunted basement, plus he got everything he needed from me, a warm place to stay, a place for everything he owned, food, cigarettes, booze, weed...all for free.

I didn't fall in love with him right away, that took a month.  Then I fell, heart, body and soul in love with him.  The whole while I was telling him this, he was literally telling me "I don't love you".  I didn't listen, I thought that if I just kept giving him what he needed and helped him get his life together, eventually he would love me.  So that's what I did.  I had a job at the time that paid me very well, but I lost it because I thought it was my responsibility to make sure he was clean at all times, that he wasn't out there finding meth.  I also didn't understand that the meth wasn't the problem, Eric's addiction was.  So I "allowed" him to drink, smoke weed, pop ecstasy, hit acid, eat mushrooms, and really do any other drug out there, as long as it wasn't meth....cause I knew, that's what the real problem was.

I helped him to get jobs, and after about eight months he finally started his temp job at what would become his career.  He became an electro-plater, and he was good.  Eric has always had a very good work ethic.  He quickly became the "golden boy" as I liked to call him.  He got hired on permanently four months later, he has since held damn near every job there, including foreman.  He loved his job, even though it was dangerous.  Eric is, and always has been, very good at his job.  I felt good, because it seemed he had a purpose again, he seemed to start to get happier.

Things started to escalate in our lives before that, we became abusive towards each other.  We called each other names, swore at each other, said extremely hurtful things to each other, and were physically abusive.  And people saw all of it.  I was called a fucking bitch, cunt, crazy, psycho, fat, lazy, ugly among other things on a regular basis.  I got put up against walls by my throat, slapped, punched in the face.  I cried a lot, cut myself once in a awhile, and just generally wondered what I did to deserve these things.  I was not an innocent, I called Eric an asshole, told him he would never be anything better than his parents, screamed hurtful things.  I also shoved him into things, slapped him and threw things at him...sometimes getting so close to his head that I could have killed him.

We broke up a year later, he stayed in my apartment and I went to live with a friend until I could get back on my feet.  We continued to see each other, and after I got my new little bedbug infested studio, Eric started spending more time at my house than his own, then he cancelled his lease and moved in with me.  Shortly after that we moved into a two bedroom in the same complex.  Life seemed to get better.

Other than when there was drinking involved, life was mostly good.

Eric and I share a couple of passions, one of them is animals.  We had our little menagerie: our twin cats, Phantom and Joker, our dur-dur cat, Milky, our two awesome ferrets, Maximus and Minimus, our little water dragon, Myth, and our sugar gliders, Widget and Twitch.  We loved having all of them around.

We lived, we really did.  Went to many shows, hung out with our close friends, took day or weekend trips, spent every last penny(which Eric hated, but I loved).  Celebrated holidays doing everything we could to celebrate them.  Went on adventures that no one else had been on.  We lived.

Halloween of 2012 changed our lives forever, the house we lived in at the time did that in general, but Halloween of that year cemented it.  We went to a house party, same one we had been to the prior two years.  We both drank, but apparently Eric drank to the point of blacking out.  After we got home, I struggled for an hour to get him into bed...I finally got him there.  Then I went to chill in the living room and passed out on the chair.  I woke up to Eric pissing on me...in the chair.  I freaked out.  I was livid, yelling, wondering what the fuck and why the fuck someone would ever do that to me.  Eric started punching, and hitting me, at one point I was on my back on the bed and the only thing that I could do was kick him every other second to stop him from killing me.  I thought he was going to kill me.  The next day, I told him point blank if he ever drank again I was gone.  He stopped drinking.  The problem for us, he still wasn't addressing his addiction, he was living sober, but not recovering...and neither was I.

I always thought I knew what was best, and maybe, somehow, I did.  But it might not have always been what Eric felt was best for him.  He always felt trapped, even though his life was getting better, he didn't feel like things were getting better.  He felt as if he had no say over what happened in his own life.  He was living in a prison in his own head, because he didn't have any choices, I made all of them for him.  He felt as if he had no freedom, and in reality he didn't.

I felt justified in doing many of the things I did, I mean, Eric is the one who cheated, lied, and conned me.  He had slept with my (supposed)friend in my bed while I was gone, and then in my closet and bathroom when I was sleeping.  He stole from me.  Lied about everything, big, little, it didn't matter.  If he didn't want to face it, he lied.  He wrote love letters to ex-girlfriends, told me how much he loved them, how much more he loved them than he loved me.  I felt so incredibly worthless; I figured if he was going to keep me, he was all I deserved.  And if that was the case, I was going to do as much as I could to stop myself from getting hurt again.  Unfortunately, many of those things actually ended up hurting me more than I ever realized they would.  I stopped Eric from having a car, that way, he couldn't visit people that I didn't want him to.  I stopped him from having a phone, that way, he couldn't call or text people that I didn't trust.  I stopped him from having access to the computer, that way, he couldn't contact people that I didn't trust or download porn and viruses onto my computer.  I told Eric what he needed to do, when he needed to do it and how.  Eric had the choice to stay or not, but I basically mentally imprisoned him.  It was never right; I should have never lived life that way.  I should have never lived his life for him.

I should have left Eric when he cheated, it would have saved me so much pain, but I also would have missed out on so many memories.  So many times that I cannot even imagine not having been part of my past.  Those memories are still hard to live...the bad is easy, it makes me sad...but I remember why we are not together.  The good, which there was a lot of, I'm not ready to live because it makes me sad in a different way, I miss him more than words when I think of even easy things like a movie we both loved or a place we both loved to be.  Everything reminds me of him, so I cry constantly, I think of him often.

Eric is and always was a very good man, with a very sick past.  He was raised surrounded by active alcoholic/addicts.  He was abused and treated very badly, sometimes knowing some of the things that I do, I realize how lucky he is to have made it out the other side, sober and healthy.

I kicked Eric out of the house Friday March 28th, 2014.  We were in a fight, over I don't even know what.  Eric was sitting on his bed, with his head in his hands and he said "I've never loved you.".  I died in that moment.  I told him to get the fuck out.  I was done.  That was the straw that they talk about...the one that broke the camel’s back.  It hurt way too much to think that he had never loved me, in everything we had been through, in all we had done together and for each other, that he had never loved me through all of it.  That I had wasted 9 years of my life with someone who had never loved me.

I realize now, it doesn't truly matter if he loved me or not.  I was there where I was supposed to be, when I was supposed to be.  For him and for me.  Eric was clean and sober when I left, and hopefully he stays that way.  I know that I influenced that, whether for good or bad, I was there to help him find his way.  I know that I also was a co-dependent and an enabler for much of that time as well...but the good was there too.  I kept him alive when maybe he wouldn't have been able to keep himself alive once or twice, maybe that's all it was.  But I was there.

I joined Al-Anon the same day that I kicked Eric out.  I was completely lost and had no idea what to do or where to turn.  They helped save me from myself...I learn each day what I did wrong and why my thinking needs to change or I will never be a healthy happy person, and that is something I crave with every fiber of my being.

I am a good person, I have very good intentions and that's how I live my life.  They say the path to hell is paved with good intentions...well then I'm going to hell, cause all I can rely on is what I intend to do.  I can learn and adjust as I make mistakes, but let's face it...I suck at that...so it may take me some time. :/

I am starting this blog as a way to heal.  I hope that it helps people I care about realize that I am a good person, just a very hurt person.  This blog isn't for anyone else, if someone reads it and it helps them, good, but it has to be for me.

Pan