It’s no surprise that addiction makes you do strange things.. strange crazy fucking stupid things. Like for instance marrying someone you meet in halfway. This is a story of true romance, one to tell the grandchildren about . 🤣 not really but here it goes,
Once upon a time…..
It was the end of June 15, 2013 when I stepped off the treatment van, I was supposed to be getting married today, instead i carry my bags toward my very first halfway house. The wedding has been off for months, and the relationship long dead due to my heroin use among other things. Before me a three story victorian esq house sits, I hesitate before walking up the porch stairs where I rest my bags. I ring the door bell – this is it, this is the next step in my recovery – meetings, the steps, a new life – I am hopeful.
Upon my entrance, I’m given the grand tour, not as lovely as I’d have hoped but its not terrible and then comes the list of a thousand rules – for a place called Choices, most of us joked that really we had none – no phone the first 30 days, don’t even look at a boy cause this lady legit has spy’s everywhere in town stalking your life oh and you can’t walk anywhere alone… yes 25 and need an escort to the turkey hill. Fucking obnoxious. But thems the rules and I try to follow them, that is until he comes into my life and then breaking them becomes the next best sober high.
I remember walking into the one meeting in town that goes on every night – I can’t recall the name but there are always people gathered in the lot behind it. Lora* and I walk through the alley – as we get closer to the crowd, this guy waves her over – he is tall and tan and he smirks at me – I blush like a second grader. I’m not supposed to talk to him so i don’t, I stand there awkward until he says to Lora, “aren’tcha gonna introduce me to your friend?”
She apologizes, “this is lex, lex this is Jay*.” We smile at each other perhaps somewhat mischievously then Lora* and I walk into the meeting. I don’t think Jay* and I interacted again until a few days later, but everything happened so fast.
In a few days I came to know him better, and while I didn’t know a ton, there was something about him that hooked me in – he had this deviousness about him, that was hidden just below his smile and warm heart, his tattooed arms bore tracks like mine and he understood the craziness in my head, something I wasn’t used to. So basically my demons that were resting quietly beneath the surface saw his and were like haaaay ya’ll bitches ready to play? And his were like bet. Let’s go.
Jay* and I snuck around for a week or two – in alleys, the woods, the library, you name a place we snuck there to see one another – there was this thrill about trying not to get caught, but in chasing cheap thrills I quickly lost sight of my recovery something that was still very new to me. At about two weeks into our ever budding romance Jay* relapsed. I was banned from seeing him which like maybe would work for a sane person but that just made me want to see him more and not only was I going to see him, but i lex p, 60 days clean, was going to save him. ✋🏼🤣😭
(I’ll pause so you guys can get your laughs out. )
Okay ya good?
Back to it..
In my heart of hearts I really believed I was stable enough to help Jay* I went to school for addictions counseling, clearly I knew what needed to be done, so I packed my bags and went to get him from the recovery house he was being tossed out of. My very well thought out plan was to abandon ship at my own recovery house, go get him, stay at the local super 8 and then get an apartment the next day. Seems logical right? I had about 5k in the bank from selling my car and I foresaw no hiccups in my plan.
Well hiccup number one came very early in the night. I took a cab to go get Jay* , as we pulled up there were literally tons of luggage and bags being tossed in the alley, he apparently wasn’t the only one being thrown out or the only one making their way to the super 8.
When we arrive it’s only about 40 minutes before Jay says to me “hey, one of the guys that got kicked out is staying here too, I’m gonna go get a bag from him.”
No. I say no. But my lips keep moving and the rest of the words aren’t mine, “No. You’re not getting high without me.”
Jay tries to argue, he doesn’t want me to throw my time away, but I don’t care, the switch has flipped, get us shit.
He asks how much to tell the dealer, i shrug “2 buns and some coke.” Thats a lot he says, and I know but that’s what I was doing when I went to rehab so why wouldn’t I start where I left off? What’s the point of one bag? So he gets what I say.
I am nervous as I mix up – my head gets loud, am I going to throw this all away? I know I can still not do it, but at the same time, I can’t not do it. I put the needle in my neck, one of the few working veins I have left, I watch the blood float back in the syringe, push forward and my demons fall silent breathing relief.
The next few days are a blur as we blow through five grand dangerously fast. I fall out standing up at the dealers house, I learn how to smoke crack and also a fun little fact that my boyfriend doesn’t have real top teeth from baseball. Well somewhere in that time frame Jay* and I decide the next logical step for any up and coming Bonnie and Clyde is clearly marriage.
The grand marriage plan happens like this – we get the idea, then dress up and go to the court house. It happened as quickly as you read it. I think we spent more time picking out our clothes than actually thinking about what we were doing. But hey We looked so fucking cute – all fancy and strung out. Shout out to York county court house for giving us a marriage license when we were clearly wrecked, like I literally nodded out onto the paperwork and yet somehow we walked out of there with our license, very disappointed we could not marry the very same day.
About a week or two went by after we got our license, we had yet to go through with it because we were very busy hustling and trying to maintain our high. It was $50 to get married and the two of us were so sick that it became a daily fight. Jay* was very much the jealous type, which I found both annoying and appealing, I liked that he was possessive over me but he would ask every day if I wanted to use our money to get high or get married and I never knew what to say. Sure I wanted to get married but I didn’t want to be sick either and it never mattered what answer I gave because it was a fight either way. Oh you wanna get married and then be sick or you’d rather get High than marry me? Yea try fighting that battle everyday.
On August 6, 2013 we convinced someone to send us a big chunk of money- I put the water works on and smiled happily as I hung up the phone. JACKPOT- we were getting married AND high today.
We called our dealer Javier – we needed a ride to the courthouse and a fuckton of heroin and crack. Javier, who had somehow become our friend, quickly pulled in front of our place, our chariot awaiting us. As we drove to the courthouse Javier looked in his rear view mirror and said “I’m so happy for you guys. I threw in some extra.”
That night wedding bells rang and so did our ears like Holy fucking bell ringers – we were so in love and so fucked up. Bonnie and Clyde had nothing on us – we were on top of the world.
I called my dad a few days later to tell him – I could hear him shake his head through the phone, “why am I not surprised?” he said, as if I were always this crazy. I guess nothing really surprised him anymore.
But what was anyone going to do? It would all unravel quickly and it did as Rehab was just around the corner- 7 days post wedding to be exact. Again Javier arrived to take us to our destination only this time he said, “i love you but y’all fucked up.”
To be continued…