I fell in love with an addict… and I realized I am one, too

When Bok (not his real name, obviously) and I first got together, it was… almost magical. We discussed things – i.e. older than him, I explained things from a more experienced POV, and much younger than me, he taught me ways to see a changing world, and that the things that may have been may no longer be valid, replaced by the new. We discovered things – e.g. new recipes (him sharing his mom’s recipes, me tweaking ingredients and preparations, so that we ended up with a new recipe that’s totally ours). We laughed at… a lot of things – e.g. wrong position while making love actually added spice to the act.

I can still clearly remember: He was substance-free then, and he was a version of the Energizer bunny. And in everything, too – he sketched (he may have been professionally untrained, but he had an eye for the beautiful); crocheted (a peculiar – and cute – hobby he picked up during the pandemic, considering it’s stereotypically associated with older women); he cooked (he liked giving his mom’s recipes a twist, aside from trying his hands on cuisines from countries he has yet to visit); et cetera.

And yeah, he could fuck for hours… and I’d say even days. Those were sensual yet extremely sexual times, I still recall.

Over two years of being together, he “slipped” – i.e. he met with some guys he knew from online, and one of them (an “orgynizer” that I still see in Grindr and Romeo even now) egged him on to attend an orgy. He didn’t know that the “gathering” was actually a partee, and he was introduced to meth then. I tell you, Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA), supposed to be the lead anti-drug law enforcement agency in the country, is NOT as effective as it thinks it is… particularly in the gay and bi community; check Grindr and Romeo and Telegram and Twitter, where drug is king, yeah…

There was no turning back from then on… particularly since the drug use did not, and still has not stopped.

Things changed, obviously. There’s his sensitivity to everything… including your touches, which he suddenly dislikes because “you’re pressing too hard” or “I’m sensitive there” or “you’re not doing it the way the other guy touched me”. Inability to sleep… and then the expectation for you to also stay awake to keep him company, and then the annoyance if you’re too human (and drug-free) to actually fall asleep. The desire not to cum… until after hours and hours and hours of sex, so that – already-too-pounded – suddenly you’re at fault for not being able to “go the distance”. The short attention span, so that discussing things was no longer fun; more tiring since he actually became ill-tempered, unwilling to question ideas, or for his ideas to be questioned. And the overall disinterest to do things, to do anything at all – e.g. no more hobbies, no more cooking, no more traveling, no more… everything.

Since he did continue to spend time with parteemates, yeah – and yet again – PDEA is NOT as effective as it thinks it is.

At first I got the blame. Even I blamed myself.

That I have not tried using, so I will never understand the feeling. That I don’t touch him the way his chemlovers do, and that I should try to be more like them. That I continue to work… and supposedly not spend the amount of time he desires that I spend with him, and so he looks for the attention I supposedly fail to give in the hands (and bodies) of his parteemates. That I “suffocate” him by making him feel bad about himself for not stopping. That I make him feel guilty for spending time with his chemlovers… more time than he, at times, spends with me (and even his family).

But then MY awakening kicked in.

Twice his chemlovers literally/physically ruined his body, so I had to rush him to the hospital. I looked after him while there, while his parteemates and chemlovers were nowhere to be seen or heard from (I doubt they even cared, having used his body already for those specific sessions). And I paid all the bills (again, his parteemates and chemlovers didn’t even make a squeak). Sadly, when he was healed… he went back to them, so they can use and abuse him again.

He told me of abuses his parteemates and chemlovers did to him – e.g. non-consensual sexual acts, possible video recording while high, injecting drugs sans consent (and to keep him there with them, so that they can continuously use and abuse his body), et cetera. But then… he keeps returning to the same people after a few days. He even now lies to cover up where he spent many days at.

He started complaining that “your place is too far”; and then he keeps visiting his chemlovers in places twice or thrice the distance from where I live. He actually finds excuses not to be with me, and then desires – and actively finds ways – to be with them.

He started “scheduling” our get-togethers… and then he’d cancel because this or that chemlover wants him there, pronto. Get this: He skipped my birthday so he can spend days to fuck a chemlover. I have, apparently, become an option, and this chemlover the priority.

And then the time spent with me and with his own family lessened… so he can spend more time with this or that chemlover. Two days with fam, one day for me… and the rest to be with a chemlover.

He said he’s not “in love” with a chemlover; that it’s the rush he’s hooked with, the person he’s with is accidental. Meaning: Lovers like me are competing with the rush, not the person/s giving the rush. I’m not so sure, actually. Because when your “happiness” is linked to any person, associations of love or attachment or whatever aren’t far behind. Particularly when – as noted – you opt to be with this person more than others in your life…

He said he’s trying to quit. He said he’s deleting the numbers or whatever of his parteemates and chemlovers. He said he’d remove his online accounts so the addicts who introduced him and continue to pester him won’t find him anymore. He said this, he said that…

But we’re still here… him disappearing for days, only for me to discover he was with this or that chemlover again. At times he’d drop by, turning my place into his “recovery area”, before he heads home to his family. The cycle keeps repeating over and over and over again.

On top of all this is this recognition. This acceptance that – apparently – we are ALL addicts.

He – with his parteemates and chemlovers – has meth, ice, or whatever you may want to call it. For him, too, he has this or that particular chemlover, whose “worth” now seems weightier than mine (e.g. they call him any time, and he runs to them, no second thoughts at all; and he spends days with them now, more time than he spends with me now). No matter what he uses as excuse/s… he DOES value this part (and the people there) of his life now.

But sadly, I am an addict too.

An addict of him; of having him in my life.

And I find that this is just as destructive.

I now have this debilitating worry when he disappears for days. The need to explain to his family what’s happening. The expenses because of the damages done by his parteemates and chemlovers. Suddenly feeling inadequate (“Do I have to start taking just to be in the same ‘space’ as him?”). Anxiety attacks when overthinking (“He’s fucking someone right this very minute because you’re not good enough for him!”). The incessant self-doubt (“He won’t have sex with me… and yet he fucks this chemlover nonstop for three days! Am I THAT disgusting?”). And this thought that you didn’t do enough to help him get clean, and so you’re thinking you’re bad because you weren’t there when you’re needed most.

I know this much: We need to wean off our addictions.

But I know, too, that this is easier said than done.

So get back to me in a few weeks… or a month… or a year, perhaps, to see how things are going. Because for now, I just know I fell in love with an addict… and so far, it only showed me my own addiction. The road moving forward is still long and winding…