I have had few great loves amongst my many lovers. Less than a handful. One of them I lived with for years. I left him months before moving to Thailand. We didn’t have a healthy relationship, partly because I was so infatuated with him before we got together. I allowed an imbalance of power. I wasn’t taken care of. I loved him dearly, though, and truly thought that my love would change him. I also thought that it would erase years of abuse, self doubt and corrupt friendships that he had experienced. Instead, it taught me the difference in strains of pot, how to smoke it, where to get it, and how to post bail. There was a lot of love then, but I don’t remember it so well now. We didn’t leave on harsh terms and we remained friends though others we know from the same area. I would sleep with him when I would go “home” from Thailand for visits.

It turns out he is into meth now. I see this only a step away from death. In some ways I feel like I have just been told he is dead.

I think I always hoped he would think of me as the most sane part of his life, the most loving. I didn’t want it to be from a worse position than he was when I left, just a soft regret that he didn’t treat me better back in the day. Now I regret that wish. I don’t care if I meant anything to him… I don’t know what to wish for that can help him.

I have been hurting all day.

“After more than a year's sobriety, these former meth users still showed severe impairment in memory, judgment and motor coordination, similar to symptoms seen in individuals suffering from Parkinson's Disease.”


So that is two men in my life...