Mr. Love and I have a complicated relationship. We were once stepping in stride with one another up until two years ago. Since then it seems one of us is always trying to catch up with the other. How can there no longer be anything when we’re still so involved with the other on a daily basis? I refuse to believe our love is dead.
For over a year leading up to February of 2013 Mr. Love had been showing me nonstop that I could trust him still. That what he did was a mistake and one that would never happen again. When he would go on leave he always made time to see me, for us to reconnect and earn back the friendship we always had that accompanied our love. An improvement was made in our attempts of a relationship; we discovered Skype. As long as he was docked, we would Skype for hours and hours. There were times we would even fall asleep on it together. It sounds corny but it was nice. When that is the best you can get, you grasp it with both hands for dear life. It was as though he were back home with me rather than thousands of miles away.
That year I had the best Valentine’s Day I was ever given. Even though he was not in town to spend it with me in person he still went out of his way to make it the most memorable. He also gave me my first real Valentine’s Day. He sent me an onyx tennis bracelet set in sterling silver and a beautiful bouquet of flowers that greeted me at the door when I left for school that day. I had never been sent flowers from a lover before. Even in the years we had dated, he never sent me flowers.
He had set up plans to come home the following month to strictly see me. His family didn’t even know he was coming into town. He was to fly in, get me and take me to my favorite city with a river view hotel room for a week. While we were there we would be going to the most romantic restaurant in the city. Then spending the remainder of our trip going out to bars, beaches, and simply falling even deeper in love. Unfortunately, this trip never happened.
Just a week after Valentine’s Day, my world disintegrated and spiraled into a world of drugs and alcohol.
It was just another school night. I had arrived home after my kitchen class and was laying on my couch with my feet up, not far from making my way to bed simply out of sheer boredom. Then I received a text message from one of my dear friends who I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. He wanted to hang out. I was hesitant at first, it was late and this weird feeling was taking over my gut, telling me to just stay home. I ignored it…the worst choice I could have made.
ALWAYS trust your instincts.
He came to my house and picked me up. We drove around for a short time when we found a parking lot in an office suite. He parked his car and we sat in it for a couple of hours catching each other up on the latest gossip and news of the others life. That was when he handed me a glass that was in his cup holder and offered it to me.
“What is it, orange juice?” I asked.
“No, a screwdriver,” he replied.
I didn’t much feel like drinking, aware that I had school the following day and by now it was after 2am. I didn’t want to be rude though so I took it, only sipping on it as we continued our chatter. He never touched the glass though, which I found odd at first. There had been plenty of times we had shared drinks, why was tonight different? Instead, he pulled out a bottle from the back seat that contained his own screw driver.
Out of the blue, he was insistent that I chug this concoction. “Drink half, right now.” I know my limit when it comes to liquor, I know how I get and what I can and cannot handle. It was enough he got me to drink liquor and when I wasn’t in the mood for it. He wasn’t going to force it in me as well. Not that he didn’t try. He tipped the glass in hopes of getting me to drink more, faster. Instead his attempts landed on my shirt and jacket. He realized I wasn’t going to budge in my decision and finally decided to leave the parking lot. “I’m going to pick up another bottle of liquor from my house before I take you home,” he said. (We were only two blocks away from his house.) I told him while he grabbed the bottle then I was going to use the ladies room, then it was to be straight home for me.
Keep in mind, this entire time, I still had the bad feeling in my gut I had mentioned earlier.
I took one last sip from the glass when we got to his house, noticing only half of it was gone, including what had spilled earlier. I went to use the restroom while, I assumed, he rummaged through the liquor cabinet. As I stepped up to the sink to wash up, I stumbled slightly. My gut tugging harder than ever at me screaming, “GO HOME, NOW.” I exited the bathroom and found him, not in the kitchen waiting for me, but across the hall in his bedroom sitting at the end of his bed.
“I need to go home now, friend.” I insisted.
“Just sit for a minute, then I’ll take you home.” He said as he patted the spot next to him, “I can tell you aren’t drunk yet. You aren’t slurring your words. You need to get drunk.”
This is the last memory I have before things went black.
To be continued…
I had not intended this to be as long as it is but I suppose I have more to say than I thought. More than anything, I only hope for others to gain a lesson from this, self-awareness as well as awareness to one’s surroundings as well as courage. In the upcoming blog I will go into further detail of what not to do. I also hope for others to gain strength where I had not. Life goes on.