Disclaimer: This story contains details of abuse that may be triggering to some.
“We got married in 2007. Everything was a whirlwind romance; that young naive kind of love thinking I could conquer the world together and I can’t imagine a single day away from each other. In 2013, the diagnosis became evident. I started seeing burnt foil around the house, burnt spoons, burnt scissors, cut up straws, broken glasses, burnt glass tubes from nowhere, and broken cotton swabs. Money and valuable things went missing. I didn’t mind at first because I was cleaning up after our 3 babies. But then it became so frequent around the house it was getting too normal.
The changed behavior, the active and the moody days. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it must have been drugs, and it was. After a few days of studying the different narcotics, I finally arrived at the drug, the one drug that would become my enemy for the next 6 years of our marriage: methamphetamine.
2020 marks the 7th year since we have been battling with my husband’s meth addiction in our marriage. It has been the longest ride of drained finances and broken promises.
On the first few days after taking a hit, or the ‘high’ days, he would clean like a robot, rearrange all the furniture, and break things apart to see what was wrong and fix them all again. He thought he was invincible. He would attend to his own company and never come close to my kids and me. The thing that he loved to do most would heighten; producing and writing music for hours on end and staying at his piano until his rear warmed up the chair enough to light a fire.
He would never start an argument with me even when I tried to from all the rage I had because he took another hit. I could go wherever I wanted to without him questioning or go with the kids for the whole day and he wouldn’t care.
The struggle, however, came creeping in not on the ‘high’ days, but on the ‘moody’ days, which were the 3rd or 4th day after taking the meth hit (depending on how strong or weak the dose was). I was forced to cater to all the sexual pleasures because if I resisted, he wouldn’t let me rest and there would be a long list of blackmailing. It’s crying the whole time because I didn’t have a choice, although my eyelids were falling heavy on my face.
It’s reminding myself over and over again that I am a woman of worth and value. It’s moving between 4 different rental houses within 1.5 years to keep me from sleeping around. It’s being questioned on the next ‘moody day’ about what I’ve been doing the whole time he was high. It’s letting him tell me bad stories about myself he’s heard from random people with no proof to show.
It’s having to suck up the pain when going to work and pretend everything is okay at home. It’s having to put on a fake ‘okay face’ almost every morning. It’s protecting his reputation and trying to impress everyone about how he is such a loving husband because I didn’t want to be embarrassed. It’s coming up with lame excuses when he sends an angry and nasty message to my work colleagues or friends because I’m a ‘sl*t’ and they’re the reason why.
It’s protecting his name every time a phone breaks when our families contact us. It’s having to come up with silly excuses when there’s an important family gathering that we had to attend as a couple. It’s about all the ridiculous lies I created for bruises and scars caused by him wanting another hit. It’s hiding my purse, counting all of my money, and hiding bank cards to make sure it’s all there. It’s occasionally loaning money to get us by with the kids because money always went missing and there were too many expenses to budget on.
It’s looking for him in the early hours of the morning while the kids sleep in the car, praying I don’t find him dead on the road. It’s being quiet in the house because he claims there are cameras everywhere and there are people standing outside the window watching our every move. It’s being blamed that I am poisoning his food and water; he wouldn’t dare eat anything I cooked because he thought I was trying to kill him and my family in an attempted murder mission.
It’s dealing with the accusation that I am doing drugs too, that I am involved with everyone selling the drug, and we are dealing and bringing the drugs into the country. It’s having my stressed-out dark eye circles as proof that I am a drug addict too and we’re in this together. It’s resisting him offering me the drug for a hit several times so that we can experience the high and pleasure together.
It’s him making me go to sleep early, just in case I sneak out at night. It’s him locking our doors and windows with spoons and forks, so if the utensils are moved, it’s a sign that I’ve left the house. It’s seeing my kids cry while he tells them not to lie about where I went while he was high because he wants to be told what he wants to hear, and they’ve put in the position of being forced to lie.
It’s watching the phone after phone after phone being broken because he claims someone is hacking it and watching us through our devices. It’s spending money while already on a tight budget to replace what was broken because it’s needed for work or for contact with family. It’s having to look for external drives, flash drives, games, tablets, laptops, phones, and other valuable things around the house to find out later he sold them for a hit if there was no money.
It’s sitting in the car quietly because he says there are Bluetooth wires and speakers surrounding the car and people are stalking us. It’s being quiet with my kids in the house and letting him have his long rest after the moody days, so he could wake up clear-headed the next day and go to work.
It’s praying that he doesn’t get fired every time he gets away with a lame excuse of why he can’t come to work. It’s sucking up the shame when I find out later there was money borrowed from the office or neighbors or friends or family and the excuse was to buy kids’ food. It’s hoping the job he has will keep him occupied and keep his focus away from drugs.
It’s not wanting to come out of the house because I’m embarrassed by the fight from the previous day that the neighbors saw or heard. It’s continuing to wonder if there will ever be a right time to call the police on him and put him behind bars, but never finding the heart to do that to him, and especially to my kids.
It’s not enjoying my duty travels and focusing on work because I’m either worried about him back home with our kids, or he’s bothering me all the time. It’s denying some of my work duty travels because he isn’t reliable enough to watch the kids, although the allowances would help with family expenses too.
It’s eating myself away with food as an emotional eater because that’s all I can do. It’s not caring about how I look any more or what I wear anymore because I got too comfortable with the stress levels. It’s locking myself away from friends and families because I didn’t want to get out of the house or go anywhere aside from work because I had to keep the money coming in for my family.
It’s spending endless nights crying and feeling sorry for myself, asking when it would end. It’s tucking my kids into my arms and saying sorry to them over their sleep because I’ve taken it out on them again. It’s fighting myself mentally and emotionally while trying to stay strong for my kids. It’s thinking twice every now and then about committing suicide. It’s taking the knife off of my chest again with a little bit of cloth coming with it because I was that close.
It’s purposely getting rid of the hunting rifle in case I pull the trigger on us one day. It’s coming down from a chair every time I try to levitate myself with a rope or belt. It’s thinking twice of taking my own kids’ lives and then mine so we could escape the pain. It’s burning the bible because I didn’t believe in God anymore.
It’s having to stop praying for a while because it was a waste of time. It’s driving full speed on the road several times with the kids praying for an accident to happen so we could go away easily just like that, so he could suffer and mourn us his whole life. It drinking many random pills lying around the house so it could take an overdose effect.
It’s not caring anymore whether the kids watch us scream our lungs out, roll on the floor like psychos, fight, or throw dishes around the house and break things. It’s having to keep doing talk interventions with families and him to break the habit. It’s driving and practically living on the road with the kids for hours on end because I did not want to go home and face the pain.
Then all of that goes away for a while, with at least 4 days or 5 days sober. He has his moments of victories, his tries, and efforts that I was always so proud of. The longest sobriety was a month and a few days at one point. You have that window to start all over again, to be able to give him your trust again, to become a loving family again. I felt like a bad wife if I didn’t and I challenge myself every single time to give him one more chance.
I thought about all our good times together and kept hoping to have him back again someday and told myself, ‘Maybe this is his last one, just maybe.’ I beat myself up thinking maybe I’m not praying hard enough, maybe I’m not being patient enough, maybe I need to work harder at our marriage, maybe I’m being too mean to him when he’s high or maybe I’m being too soft, he needs help he can’t fight the addiction.
Then, the cycle repeats itself, the pattern continues. There’s another meth hit. One more chance always turns into the millionth, always turns into the thousandth, and I would go back to him in less than a month or so. We would start at square one over and over and over again. I felt stupid and fed up. I was just drained.
Then it was my time, my time to be human, my time to seek my own remedy elsewhere, my time to pay him back for all the pain he’s caused me. Several times I’ve fallen. I wasn’t the perfect faithful and obedient wife to him. Several times I’ve looked for attention from other men; for affection and love that he didn’t give me. Several times I got lost in myself so that I lost focus on my kids for a while. Several times I would just drink until I got wasted and not remember the pain anymore.
If I didn’t have the strength to retaliate physically, at least I could strike him where it hurt the most even if he didn’t know or would find out about it later. I would keep condemning him for all the years I’ve wasted taking care of his addiction and causing me and my kids so much pain. For a while, I kept feeding him the drug indirectly; I would give him money if he asked and would leave my purse anywhere easily accessible for him to go buy the drug and pretend I didn’t know about it. I would compromise with him and say yes to his drug for an event I wanted to go to, for something I wanted to do, or for someone I wanted to go and see. I kept at it, as long as I could escape the pain for a while and do whatever I wanted.
If he asks all those questions, I would lie to myself, tell him the truth as he saw it and what he wanted to hear and it didn’t bother me anymore whether it was right or wrong, as long as there was peace in the house and there was no more fighting around our kids. He wanted a yes; I’d give him a yes. He wanted a no; I’d give him a no. It felt good and my actions felt justified because he had hurt me for so long, this is what he gets, and I’ll surrender to him even if I fall in the pit while doing so. It felt good indeed, but it lasted only for a fake short while.
Then GOD happened. Oh dear, patient reader, BUT GOD! He rekindled my first love for him, reminded me of who I am in him, reminded me of my worth in him. I was so depressed in taking care of his addiction and I wanted the obvious miracle so bad; to make him change and drop his drugs. I just wanted the big and obvious change and miracle.
I’m living my life forward and understanding it backward now…
Is reaching 2020 not miracle enough for me? Was that not God who made me avoid the demonic drug when it was offered to me several times? Was that not him who kept my kids safe the past 6 years? Was that not him who forgave my past mistakes and woke me up again? Was that not him who made me not commit suicide? Was that not him keeping me sane all these years? Was that not him taking care of my kids while I was away? Was that not him who kept me alive all these years from a possible murder or accident surrounding drugs?
He delivered me from so many weaknesses and flaws, depression, from feeling sorry for myself, from bitterness, anger, being unforgiving, revenge, shame, manipulation, deception, from so many things that I couldn’t even imagine were there. He pulled the curtains blocking my view. I saw my flaws and how I needed to work on myself. His Spirit never left my side. He had led me through the fire and in my darkest nights. He was closer like no other, even though I didn’t know it.
I had the support and love of his family and my family on both sides, and my close group of friends that I took for granted many times over, that I failed to accept at times because my dramas were getting too common and too much, but it never held them back. They were the people that stuck by me and the kids over the years with advice, lending us money, buying us food, letting us sleep over, paying our rent, paying for airfare to travel so I could have the comfort of my parents’ love again every now and then over the years.
I could never imagine the man I married doing any of these ugly, disgusting, and sick things, but so did the wives who became murdered and broken victims. This is how ugly it gets with the drug. You have no power and control over it when it becomes a habit and has taken too much. Disturbing yes, disgusting yes. There’s no sugarcoating the effects of meth that we must be aware of and not be ignorant to, because it’s continuously rising.
All the hallucinations, hearing voices, seeing people, being stalked, being hacked, being poisoned, all the paranoia, all the sexual pleasures, all the inhumane thoughts and incest with other cases I read out there, all the things that my husband did to me are all drug effects and are demonic, and is why meth is called the devil’s drug. It’s one of the devil’s strongest weapons in breaking families and nations, spiritual warfare for our knowledge and research.
It changes the person mentally, psychologically, emotionally, and physically, both real and over time. The man I married is a very talented piano player and the best I know in music production and recording. We’ve built a dream together of setting up our music recording studio one day, with several attempts, but all was stolen by meth.
He’s a very smart guy with interests in electronics and technology, very committed to what he does. He takes time on any task given to him until it’s to his version of perfection. He’s shy and quiet and compensates for my opposite behavior well. He’s such a humble and patient person and the best loving father to our kids.
He mostly cooks for our family, does homework with the kids, and plays with them more than I do. Drugs flipped that entirely, if not for all days, but most days since he became addicted. I still have his best self, the beautiful soul I married, and our loving happy memories together to cherish and linger on. The ugly demonic bondage of drug effects do not define him and God’s perfect will for his life. Although we can pray for our loved ones fallen to meth addiction and continue to hope for them, the change will come only from their willing heart to turn the situation around.
It’s been 7 months separated from my husband and the longest we’ve been apart. It was the hardest in the first few months, but it became easier with time and prayer, seeking God’s strength on every single failure and mistake to get up and try again. Of course, the memories haunt me, and I struggle day by day with decisions and choices I make to cope. It’s not easy to find trust again after it’s been given the millionth time over. I sometimes see my kids with all this bitterness, screaming at each other. I must keep breaking these strongholds in prayer because they grew up in an unhealthy environment and they are not to blame.
While I’m still not 100% sure where my life is heading right now, having questions here and there, one thing I am sure of is this: that the plans the Lord have are for me to prosper, not to be harmed. He has plans to give me a hope and a future. I will continue to trust in him and his timing and I’m not putting anything on hold while waiting, just keep on pressing forward and do what I must do now for my kids who are looking up to me.
Don’t take meth addiction lightly because it is not. Wives are being killed, babies are abandoned to die, daughters are being raped, young schoolgirls are becoming sex slaves for a hit of meth, sons are becoming like their addicted fathers, wives are taking the hit too to escape the pain, families are broken, fathers are killing themselves, wives are killing themselves because of depression, marriages break up, families are broken, fathers and mothers are wasting years in prison with kids at social services, houses and shops are broken into, faces are changed, teeth are falling out, people are going mental and straying the roads, you have everything to lose.
Newspapers are flooded with drug-related cases almost every month to almost weekly at times. The courthouse is full of teenagers and adults whose babies and spouses have to come in and listen to them being sentenced. We have limited resources to systematically take us through the process of drug addiction recovery and a lack of professional and medical rehab facilities. We have prisons with walls and gates that can’t even stop the drugs coming in.
We have a port, post mail, and customs authorities that could only go far with identifying smuggled packages. There are businesses thriving behind dirty drug money that has broken many families. There is no control. We could only expect crime rates to go up with the rate meth is becoming readily available to our families and friends. The drug is getting cheaper.
I tip my hat to our support groups I see on the newspapers’ classifieds sections. The government programs that are targeting drug abuse and violence against women in all areas; and all the depression, abuse, and suicide awareness challenges on social media. Thank you for your continuous efforts in helping.
I remind our community to educate yourself about meth, learn its addiction symptoms, its effects, and what it can do to your loved ones for awareness and see how to help while you can. Equally important is taking care of yourself and figuring out how to cope during the ‘moody days.’ Check on your sister, your brother, your cousin, your friend who you know is married to a meth addict. They are just as much of a victim of meth addiction as their spouses who fell to it.
I assure you there are uglier things happening in that house. Give them a phone call, a zoom call, a skype call, Viber, Whatsapp, Messenger, Facetime, Tiktok. Send them a meme, a GIF, a scripture, a song, a funny video. Turn up with coffee on their front door because they need it, just anything to brighten up their day.
Lastly, to my dear sister who is driving over that speed limit and thinking of that knife or gun, I know you love him, I really do, but the best you can do for yourself now is to look out for your and your kids’ safety first. I know you have faith and hope but it doesn’t always come easy. Be careful of who you take advice from. Some will say to be patient, some will say to leave, some will say to try harder all out of their love and concern, but at the end of the day, it’s you and your kids that would live the life and know what’s going on in that house, not your advisers.
No one knows yourself better than you and your family. Know when it’s time to stay and when to leave. Listen to your gut and pray for wisdom to deal with the situation. Yes, have the time to feel the pain. Cry it out, cry it out. Don’t deny your emotions, but don’t put the pressure and burden on yourself to the point where you break and lose it. Don’t try to be superhuman. We all have thresholds, limits, and breaking points, and can only take so much at a time. Separate your heart from your mind and your mind from your heart.
Don’t wait for something bad to happen to your children or yourself. It took me 6 years, a million chances, a thousand separations, grey hair, dark eye circles, scars, a thousand bruises and scratches, and my sanity to realize that I have to look after myself and my 3 kids as a priority and to be grateful to God for never leaving us.
You see sister, I could buy my kids expensive things again. I could save up again. I have time to rediscover my likes again. I have time to go to the outdoors and adventure again. I have time to laugh again and not pretend or fake it anymore. I have time to sleep again. I have time to watch 2 movies in a row again. I have time to go ride at low speed again. I have time to go to the gym and work on myself physically.
It’s just having the joy of re-discovering myself again without staying depressed and lonely in my small corner. Turn your trial into motivation and do what you love to do again, whether it be in music, drawing, working out, swimming, dancing, football, etc. It takes time to adapt again, but keep it going. Surround yourself with positive motivation and an encouraging environment.
Bring out that roaring lion in you and come back a fighting warrior woman, come back lifting those weights off your back and shoulders, come back better than ever before. Know your worth spiritually in Christ, believe in yourself mentally, and execute physically. Find your balance. God turns graves into gardens, from ugly to beautiful. Our trials build us, strengthen us, make us, and mold us into who we are.
Don’t let anyone’s bad choices in life hold you back from who God called you to become, take care of yourself in the process. They have their own story for them to tell when God is finished with them. Prayer and hope for them are never too much to keep holding on to because God loves them just as much as he loves the sober us, he loves your addicted husband and mine just as much.
The month of April 2020 was known to be the month of sexual abuse awareness. As we celebrate the new month of May for mental health awareness, may this serve as an encouragement to all our sisters out there to come out and seek help. Sexual abuse can be drug-related and mental health is totally affected by it. Don’t fall victim to it anymore.
Domestic violence extends to all the different abuses, not just physical. It is not just a monthly awareness, but ongoing. I put myself in all my broken and unheard sisters’ shoes and could hear the echo of cries in my walls, the walls of silence and shame I want to break loose now, this time, today, tonight. A night I would have never seen coming 6 years ago, the better me than yesterday. I fall, I get up, I run again. Here I am, oh so patient reader. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dimary, and thank you for reading this far.
Please share for our women out there struggling through the moody days of their husbands’ drug addictions. They need our help.”
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