The Unraveling.

April 2015

We start talking again, Jay and I. It’s been over a year since I left Philly for Florida. Some days I feel like this isn’t real life, rather i’m away at a really weird adult summer camp. But for the most part I’m happy – I’ve be clean since I left, I work in treatment, I hand out raffle tickets at meetings, I sponsor people – I am living breathing proof that recovery is possible.

I am also proof that you can be clean and still manage to act like a complete fucking moron.

I honestly don’t recall the specifics but it goes something like this: one day I’m out floating around on my pink recovery cloud, thinking all the world is good and pure when BAM I’m hit with the idea that since I’ve been clean a whole year and have abided by my sponsors rules for guys with me, the next logical thing to do is repair that which is broken!

As in my shitty halfway house marriage. Genius right?

Now float along the cloud with me for a moment. There are these things called the 9th step promises. Which basically say if you are diligent about your recovery, you’ll be #blessed – like everything you could ever have dreamed about comes true. πŸ€·πŸΌβ€β™€οΈπŸ€£ anyway.. I have busted my ass thus far. I did my steps. I am livin the recovery life. I think I’m a good person, I deserve this. Pony up god, hit me wit that happily ever after shit.

God literally backhanded me – twice – the way your parents did if you said something fresh when you were a kid. He was like this first slap’s for sayin pony up and this second one is cause you clearly didn’t learn the first few times, but if you insist, here ya go, have your rehab romance i’ma just sit back n watch.

Naturally, I insist.

Jay has about 6 months clean when we manage to really reconnect – he lives with some chic he met in rehab but says he wants to be with me, wants to start a family like we planned. It’s all I’ve ever wanted – a family, but he’s up in PA and I’m in Florida – worse yet, he’s on parole.

Now some would say, hey there cowgirl (actually no one I know would say that) but they’d be like yo what the fuck, that is red flag central but where most people see red, I see green. Someone could literally be one giant red flag and I’ll be like, no, there’s gotta be some green under there, let me uncover it πŸ™„ lord Jesus help me.

Anyway.

After a few weeks of rekindling our romance via phone calls and texts, Jay tells me he doesn’t think I’m serious about wanting to be together again – part of him still fuming from when I “cheated” on him with my taco bell lover, he tells me to prove it. Prove I love him.

Bet.

I love a good challenge. I catch a flight the next day.

I am. Fucking. Crazy.

We spend the weekend together, the girlfriend is back in rehab and we are once again stupid in love, keyword stupid. But I am on this cloud and believe in my heart that since we are both clean and doing the right thing, everything else will fall in line. I’m not even being sarcastic, I was just that naive.

The weekend is good -I was hesitant, unsure how I would feel at first but the moment I see him, all the hurt and the anger I’ve ever felt toward him disappears. I fall back in love with simple moments like dancing together in cvs or laughing till we have tears in our eyes – it feels so real.

I vow before I leave to help get Jay to Florida, I am willing to do whatever it takes, and I do. Within 2 months I slowly secure the essentials for him – a job, a halfway to stay in, coordinating his parole transfer, paying off some of his fines, setting up a therapist for us. I want this to work, and even though I’m being pretty dumb, I’m still cautious, hence the living in a different house than me.

We talk every day, he sounds normal, he sounds good. We have big plans for the future. Everything seems to be going in the right direction.

I fly back north in May for Mother’s Day, the first few days like the last trip are amazing, I can’t wait for him to be with me everyday. But on my last few nights there things get weird.

The second to last night I am there, we sit outside the Marriott smoking (cigs this time not crack 😒). It’s late – Jay seems exhausted – from the corner of my eye as I exhale my smoke, I think I see him nod. It’s nothing, he had a long day, I tell myself. He begins to talk, his words the slightest bit slurred, I stare at his eyes, trying not to be too obvious that I’m checking if they’re pinned but they’re poopy brown and so hard to see.

“Whatsa matter lex? You’re lookin at me how my mom does when she thinks I’m high.”

shit, I think, don’t be stupid it’s fine, he’s fine.

When we return to the room he steps into the bathroom, I hear the door lock, weird. I check his pant pockets, his wallet, nothing, no drugs. I’m paranoid. It’s fine. Stop.

We go to sleep. I wake suddenly during the night in a cold sweat, ive had a nightmare – the only part I remember is seeing one of the therapists from 1st step saying in her raspy New York voice, “Lexie ya know betta.” And then I wake.

I look over my shoulder- Jay is sitting up on the side of the bed, his back to me.

“Jay.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Jay.”

He jumps a little. “Oh man I musta been sleep walking or somethin.”

“Yea…,” I go back to sleep, I have a gut feeling something is wrong but I don’t want it to be, so I do what I do best – ignore it.

We stay at Jays place the next night, there are some things that happen that I’m not going to divulge but ya shouldn’t be falling asleep during said things if ya catch my drift. 😏 I ignore it but this time, I can barely sleep – I wake constantly, my body subconsciously trying to make me aware of the obvious. Each time I wake Jay is hovering over the side of the bed. Around 4am I question him – why hasn’t he slept yet, what is he doing. He swears he’s been asleep all night. I know what I’ve seen though.

He gets up to go outside and smoke, I lay there for a moment, then without thought, jump from the mattress and head directly to a random pair of pants by the door. I reach in their pockets, I feel a small ziplock bag, I pull it out and am face to face with 8 bags of heroin. What the fuck.

My blood pressure skyrockets – I try to wait till he comes back in but I’m fuming. I calmly walk outside, try to think of some petty smart ass shit to say but I’m so mad that I just shove the bag in his face and demand to know what the fuck he’s doing with it.

That’s not mine that’s my roommates

Why are they in your pants?

We wear the same pants.

But you wore those pants today.

Yea but so did he. I’m gonna kill him I can’t believe he’s using in my apartment.

(The AuDacity!)

Jay storms into the house, pretends to rummage through a few things then goes directly into the one room and grabs a bag of needles that were hidden in a box of clothes. How dare his roommate do this to him.

I say I’m going to flush the drugs but I let Jay convince me not to, to let him confront the other guy with them. ( I am dumb)

I try one last ditch effort to get him to fess up,

let’s do a bag together,” I say, half laughing, “like old times.”

I stare at him. I can tell he’s unsure if I’m joking – by the way my anxiety builds, I’m not sure I am either. If Jay agrees, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself, I am already straddling a very thin line.

He senses my fear. “Yea right lex, get outta here, we both have so much clean time.” I let out a sigh of relief, maybe they are his roommates.

I leave for Florida, if we are being honest, I know in my heart he is getting high, but I want so badly to believe it’s not true.

When I return I try to have other people talk to him, I ask my friend Jimmy to give him a call, just to see how he sounds, to offer him detox if he needs it. I trust Jimmy, think he’s a good judge of character, and he’s been in recovery for years, he should be able to tell if Jay is high.

Jim gives him the clear. He sounds fine.

That’s the problem with Jay, I can’t always tell when he’s high, cause sometimes he’s not high, high, he’s just well. (If you don’t know what that means it means he’s not drooling on himself and has done the bare minimum he needs to, to function aka he sounds normal).

I let the lie go on a few weeks more, he only asks for money one day- it’s $20 for his contacts so I don’t think much of it, everything seems normal again.

This is the beginning of my relapse. The part you hear about in meetings where you “pick up,” before you actually pick up.

The unraveling.

I remember it was a Friday in June. I was working and going to be dog sitting my sponsors new pup that weekend. On my lunch break, I took a call from Jay, he was out driving with some people, he asked how my day was going then out of nowhere said, “oh I have to go, call you later, there’s a cop nearby,” and hung up. I didn’t think much of it.

I went about my day. My entire day. Work. Dog sitting. Netflixing. It was around 11 when I realized I never heard back from Jay.

I call his phone – no answer.

I call again and again.

I know in the pit of my stomach something is wrong.

Eventually the phone shuts off.

I call every single hospital in Montgomery and Philadelphia county. I call the jails. He is nowhere to be found.

I stalk people on Facebook, trying to find friends he’s mentioned. I message them like a psycho. I wait up all night a mess of snot and tears.

Around 5 am someone answers me, says Jay got arrested in part of a sting operation at some motel in Pottstown. He gives me the other guys names.

I’m about to kill someone.

I call the police station, they finally have him processed, I demand details as his wife. They give me what they can but it’s not much. I stalk the court dockets and newspapers – I piece what happened together over the next few days.

Exactly a week later I get a call from Jay in jail.

“Hello? ”

Hey babe, he says, how’s it goin?

“What do you mean how’s it going? You’re in jail.”

Oh ya, these guys I was drivin had drugs on them and I got taken in with them.

My blood pressure skyrockets. I vow to remain calm. But I can’t listen to the lies.

“Jay, I’m gonna give you one more chance, why are you in jail.”

He says some bullshit.

“Let’s start again, keep in mind I know the stamp and color of the bags you had. You were getting high?”

No.

“Your coke bag was red, they found that in your pants with some dope. They were YOUR drugs.”

Yeah.

“You were high when I was in philly?”

No. Yeah.

Yeah… i know he knows he fucked up.

I’m not sure what I say next, I have no tears left to cry. I hang up and just kinda stand there stunned- why is this happening to me? Why can’t I have what I want just one time.

(If you look closely I apparently was googling articles on being a prison wife 🀣😭 I hate myself bye) 😘✌🏼

Love and Light

Lexie PS πŸ’™β˜€οΈ

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