I’ve heard it said the road to hell is paved with good intentions and what I discovered by living in the fast lane was the reality of those intentions. My travels on the highway to hell exposed false intentions used to cover up personal goals like a Trojan horse full of personal agendas. Often the purpose was to manipulate me by influencing my choices and undermining my fundamental feelings of love, hope and trust.
Over time that road was littered with broken promises, deception and emotional pain so extensive that relationships had given way to a resentment that lasted beyond attempts to get clean and sober. My journey in a life without drugs was characterized by a series of psychological and physical breakdowns from the out-of-control behavior that radiated from a spoon, a lighter and a syringe.
Rachael routinely drove along Route 495 looking for drug houses off the exits outside of Boston where cities were connected by a network of dope dealers that linked the city’s underworld. The inhabitants she befriended were outlaws who shot dope a lifestyle supported by whatever they could turn into cash.
I felt good about her new receptionist job assuming it would enhance the family’s quality of life. But it gave her a paycheck for more drugs and an appetite that cost more of our money. In essence, she explained the money she made from her job was hers, and the money I made was ours. I wasn’t in denial, but I had no idea that her coke addiction was so strong.
Eventually she quit her job without notice because the owners wouldn’t do things her way. Her narcissistic behavior allowed her to do unimaginable things without any regard for the family and she treated the kids like strangers. For my daughter her natural soul-mate had rejected her needs while my son felt abandoned by the strongest source of love, his mother.
I had to remove the source of our pain so I retained a local lawyer to file for divorce. When I gave Rachael the divorce papers she was caught by surprise, as though there was nothing wrong in our marriage. Her tirade ended when she threw some clothes into her car and left.
Before our first divorce court session I showed my lawyer that her credit card charges were all for gas, alcohol and cash a pattern that most likely belonged to a drug addict. He didn’t get it.
On a hot day in June, Rachael showed up in the divorce court wearing a long sleeve shirt. I whispered to my lawyer about possible needle marks on her arms but he seemed confused and said nothing. Since we were quiet, her lawyer easily convinced the judge she was a victim who suffered from years of alcoholic abuse.
The judge decided I would give her $200 per week and her car. About three months later I called my lawyer to explain the $800 per month had to end because I was behind in my bills. I reminded him I still had two teenagers to support adding that Rachael’s outlaw friends were stealing the little money I did have. We went back to court but she didn’t show so the judge dropped the weekly allowance.
She dyed her hair orange, wore light face makeup and looked to me like a hooker. My imagination of her using sex to get drugs kept my stomach in knots.
Next: Was I at the same party? Where the hell were you for five months?
The articles published here by babyboomers.com are small excerpts of a 268 page manuscript titled “The Courage to Surrender” that I would like
published. Call 678.361.4709 for information on the manuscript.