Destructively Love Addicted

While sitting at the bar laughing and drinking overpriced champagne, I allowed myself to believe things were finally starting to get better between us. I thought tonight was going to be a good night, I had no idea it would turn into yet another explosion but like usual-- I was wrong about you.

Between your screaming and the sound of me aggressively packing my bag, I couldn’t hear myself think. “You’re a fucking cunt, leave.” You pointed to the door, picking up my purse and throwing it into the living room. I started crying and screamed, “I hate you!” as I began gathering my scattered make up products and putting them back in my bag.

After re-packing all my things you selfishly disregarded, I headed towards the door to leave and as I reached for the doorknob— you started crying. “You’re really just going to leave?” Your tears confused me and I didn't understand. Why do you have to be so complicated? I'm not able to keep up with your ever changing moods and I can't read your mind, although I want to. I sat my bag down and sighed, “You’re insane.” I was trying to stay mad at you but you looked so defeated sitting on the floor, crying about how this wasn’t you.. it was the withdrawals. I nodded in agreement.

You were sobbing into the sleeve of my San Jose State University hoodie, the one you borrowed two months ago without returning and you told me you couldn’t do it. I handed you a tissue, “You said you were serious this time.” to which you responded,

                            “I guess I lied.”

On the couch with my head in my hands, I took a deep breath and raised my white flag as well. I watched you get up, grab your keys and walk towards the door, “Where are you going?” “It’s time to stop pretending we're something else, something other than junkies.” It didn’t take much to convince me, it never did. As soon as the door shut behind you, I picked up my phone and dialed the number I promised not to. It had only been ten minutes since you left, my shoes were on and I was driving my car as well. There’s no willpower existing in this apartment anymore, there’s no control. There never was and it never will.

Once our separate exchanges were complete, we returned home with pockets full of the poison which controls us. We both reached for the spoon to prepare our “last shot.” We swear every shot will be our last.

I’m tired of this, I’m done locking up my debit card. I’m done locking up my debit card but keeping the key in my wallet, allowing it to be opened. I’m done having to announce I quit. I hate our life together, your presence makes me sick. But maybe you're right-- Maybe, I can't be more than this.

Out of all the things I hate, it's you I hate the most and it's you I wish I could get sober from. Where do I sign up for love-aholic Anonymous? I need a sponsor.