Must be a dream.
At the end of last summer around my birthday my man and I had a bad split that involved meth, but love prevailed and we got back together. We worked on our communication and sex life, and we were happy for about three months. A friend of his that owned a bar was sick with cirrhosis of the liver from alcoholism and drug addiction. Billy he had to go take care of him and run the bar — a tiny little dive. He left on Monday. Scotty could not walk or get up for the bathroom. He used a wheelchair. Billy could pick him up to put him on the toilet, but he would not let him. He insisted on doing it himself which could take hours. He messed himself and the sheets several times. After I talked to Billy the second night I was ready for him to come home. I went to see him the next day and as I arrived they were taking Scotty to the hospital. I thought he would come home, but he stayed to run the bar. They had three female bartenders working different shifts. Every one expected everyone to be honest. Billy could drink all he wanted and he did. Saturday morning Billy came and got me in Scotty's jeep. He could not take not seeing me anymore. I felt the same. We got back to Scotty's and went upstairs to his apartment. The stairs were steep, and I had a hard time going up them. We had an extremely happy reunion. It was the best sex either on of us ever had. It was in a strange place and on a leaky air mattress. Afterwards we went downstairs to get ready for the day. It did not go well. We went home Sunday. Things were mediocre the following week.
Billy's birthday came, and he said he wanted to do some meth. I agreed to let him do whatever he wanted without complaining and I did. He watched porn which I hate. It was all about him. He never got a hard on and never got off, and of course I didn't. He was like a little kid that did not know what he was doing. He could not remember how to have sex with me. He has had this memory problem many times before. We were like strangers. He goes through a personality change when he does meth and it stays with him. I told him I did not want meth in the house again. He came down with severe neck pain and numbing down his arms. I finally got him to go to the ER and he got pain pills. We have had to deal with his opiate addiction before, and I wasn't happy about it. But he was in pain. He moaned and groaned about his pains tirelessly. I had to bite my tongue and tolerate him. He found out that he had a herniated disk and might need surgery. He got a month's supply of Percocet — three pills a day. A month later at the doctor's office he told the doctor he wasn't any better and got another month's supply. He took them in 12 days. I have been begging him to cut down on his drinking for eight years, and he has, but he will get shitfaced and talk his way into getting meth — maybe every two weeks or less. But he doesn't have to be drunk to get it. The right friend and he is down. In the past three months I have had as much as 4 guys partying at my house. We have had little money for food and necessities. Billy forgets a lot about what I ask for. When I get upset he won't let me talk. It festers inside, and I get anxious and paranoid. He has never really been there when I needed him. I got very little attention and he and my brother make fun of me for not knowing what I am talking about. I rarely get out of the house. I don't get to go grocery shopping or even to Wal-mart. The only thing I go out for is doctor appointments. I have had problems with my back for years. If I overdo things I have muscle spasms and I have to quit. One day I had a four hour trip on Call-a-Ride to take my man to the doctor. I ended up in the ER in horrendous pain. I could barely control my legs. They X-rayed my back and said I needed an MRI. My man told me I was faking my pain to get out of doing things. I found out later that I had a herniated disc in my lower back. They found bad arthritis in both knees and my left hip. I am starting to get it in my right hip. They recommended Aspercreme with lidocaine and Tylenol for pain. The ER did give me some Vicodin. My man was always stealing my meds or talking me out of them. I never beat the problem. At one point I told my man that if he didn't stop the drinking and drugging, I would end up killing myself. He stopped drinking for eight days and started again. We went to a motel room for a one night getaway. He wanted to bring some meth. We spent most of the day in bed getting very frustrated. He couldn't get a hard on and he could not remember how to please me. I finally had to make him quit. He decided to go to the bar and drank for an hour and a half while I lay in bed by myself. I couldn't find the remote to turn the TV off. The next morning Billy acted like everything was normal. I decided I would be killing myself. He got right back in the habit of drinking again. I was miserable, because I knew what would be coming. I waited until I got my prescription for Adderall filled