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[ Personal Narratives ]

Left For The Needle

1998, Winter.. I was at a friend’s house, which she shared with a roommate. Her roommate always had his buddies over, whom I didn’t know. I’ve always had a soft heart; I was raised that way, and one of these ‘buddies’ could see it in me.. Yes, those were still the party years; I was 19 years old, and thought I could drink with the best of them. 

I caught his eye, and he caught mine right away- the typical type I usually went for: edgy, spontaneous, ‘sweet’, nice hair. He didn’t want anything to do with my friend, but was good friends with her roommate. He sat in the seat across from me and said exactly what I wanted to hear, 

“Do you have a boyfriend?”. 

“No”, I replied. 

“Do you want one?”… 

I pondered if he was serious for a few moments. I mean, we had JUST met. I said, “Yes”. We both smiled. From that moment forward we were together nearly every second of every night. I probably didn’t go home for a month.

At first it was like being a kid again. We’d walk in the rain, on the beaches; he would show off for me by climbing high objects like houses/trees. He smoked like a chimney, but even so, I wanted to wear his Carhartt jacket all the time… Little by little I started noticing things weren’t right with Bo. He was always cleaning,  yet making a bigger mess in the proccess. He would also leave me at his house for days and expect me to be there when he got back- whenever that would be… Waiting.. Waiting..

 

I guess I just didn’t notice that very first night, due to my drunken state, that my new Bo, (not Beau), had been smoking meth when I wasn’t looking. I just saw that he was: handsome, strong, and acted like he cared about me. I obviously have issues.. I continued to turn a ‘blind eye’ for about 4 months. After I couldn’t ignore his addiction to meth any longer I confronted him. I told him that I couldn’t have it in our relationship, and that it had to be me or the drugs. He swore off the dope, but he never did stop.

We took a short break and on his birthday, I was at his house with his sister who is the same age as me. We were drunk; he and his friends were drunk, and also on LSD. I had no idea he was on it at the time, but he told me later. That night on his birthday we were intimate and conceived our first child- a son.

We weren’t even a couple when we conceived our first. It was like a one night stand so to speak. However, prior to me even knowing I was pregnant we were already back together; the cycle had begun.  He was charming, magnetic personality, and something about me kept him coming back as well. Being that he couldn’t make up his mind between me, meth, and jail, we were not together for most of my 1st pregnancy. We got back together when our son was five months old. The cycle continued.

Nearly every few months I would break up with  Bo due to his inability to stay away from meth and those people, places and things that drew him to its seductiveness. He would go off for a bit, then call me begging to let him back in my already broken heart… I did.. Somewhere in there he also learned a brand new trick: the ever loving needle of death. Once he graduated to it there was really no coming back for him. I held out hope, though. That’s how I was raised. He WAS the father of my child, and I was going to fight with all I had to keep us together. That was a bad idea..

The seductress’ were all around- all the time; I was constantly trying to ‘keep’ him at home. He was so sneaky and quiet. He could be snoring one minute in the middle of the day, and split the next without a sound only to be gone for days on end. The Meth wasn’t the only seductress; there were the ‘RBH’s’/Ripper Bag Hoe’s. Those are the girls who will do anything for dope. Anything. There was something about me that he loved, but there was something about those women that attracted him as well.. 

Once, we were together at the local bar with his dad, sister, and friend of the family. There was an RBH there from out of state that was: loud, obnoxious, slutty, and wouldn’t stop hitting on his dad. Both me and the friend of the family had to tell her more than once that he was married and to kick rocks.. I got involved in conversation with the friend, and after a while she said, “Your man has been in the bathroom for a LONG time”. I sobered up REAL fast, and kicked the women’s restroom door wide open to find my man in their with that RBH, and her hand on his genitals. They had been doing meth in there together. I made an ass of myself by dragging her out by her neck and throwing her out of the bar. I almost threw her down a flight of stairs, but my ‘right’ mind told me that I’d definitely go to jail for that, so I tossed her to the side, and told her repeatedly to leave. It was one of the most embarrassing nights of my life. I had one goal: to get ‘my man’ to go home with me, and I did. Stupid. I dumped him again the next day.

The cycle continued as time went on, and on Super Bowl Sunday, 2001 we conceived twins while during a ‘good’ time in the cycle. That didn’t last long. Two months into my pregnancy he went back to jail, again. This was before he ever went to State Prison, and it was a Jail Farm where I could visit him, and our son could play with other kids on a grassy area with picnic tables. One Sunday I went to visit alone, and our friend, who sadly was shot to death in 2012 over drugs, came out to tell me, “Bo got rolled up to medium”. I knew what that meant and started to cry. He was working in the kitchen and got caught with meth in a jail. I hung my head, got a hug and said goodbye.

I visited Bo from behind thick glass at the medium facility that week. He told me that he was going away for quite a while, but not to prison. He was going to Delancey Street Foundation in SF for about four years. There would be no contact between us for 19 months. There wasn’t. Not a word. I was hospitalized twice while pregnant with the twins for the flu and dehydration, (mind you I never drank or smoked while pregnant). I agreed that this was the best choice for him, as his addiction to the needle of meth was unstoppable on his own. I had no idea what we were all in for.

Here is the Delancey complex in San Francisco:

He learned many things from many people while there for three and a half years. I waited. WE waited for ‘daddy’, and I made stupid promises to my boys that I now fully regret. We had marriage plans; my parents had already paid the vendors and venue. I knew within a month of him coming home that he was back to shooting again. I could not believe it, and finally ended the physical cycle for good. 

The emotional cycle of hating him, not caring, wishing he would die, (he’s been shot by CHP in the neck and lost an eye in a jail fight), still continues sometimes because of how much my boys hurt. They are teenagers who need their real dad to be a healthy part of their lives. He did agree to attend one family therapy session with us. The one and only thing he had to say to our boys was, “Don’t be like me”. That was it. 

When I finally got the nerve to take him to court for legal custody, which I should have done so many years prior- in 2006, he actually asked me for a ride home. I did… With the betraying Judas’ kiss he told me, after losing custody of his sons, “I will always love you”, and trotted off to the seductress..

Since then he has hopped from this to that girl, always trying to stay within the same age group as I was when we first met. Funny- A ragged 40 year old ‘man’ trying to get together with young 20 year old girls. No one will have him any longer- not the way he looks. Such a shame. Things could have been so different- even if we never stayed together. We could’ve remained friends. 

He revealed some things to me over the years that I don’t believe any woman’s heart could take- things I will not repeat. Filthy things. Who are the real victims here? Our children. They have suffered in ways that I will not write about. I will not dishonor my kids by writing about their torment. I do have my faith, family, and just celebrated FIVE solid years of sobriety. I am thankful for those beautiful things. As for Bo, I will always hold out hope for him- hope that he doesn’t die like my brother did on 9/29/15; hope that he will have a miracle in his life. Hope never dies. Even when you once looked like this:

.. But now you look like this:


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