Addiction, Obsession, Falilure and Guilt

Addiction. Obsession. Guilt.

In an unhealthy relationship such as ours, all of these things played a part. They were an integral part of my makeup at that time.

I was addicted to the bad behavior. I was addicted to the drama. There was always something going on, whether good or bad, but it kept my life on the edge.

I was obsessed with him. I wanted to fix him, to change him into the man I knew he could be but wasn't willing to be.

I felt like a failure.

I felt guilty for leaving him alone to take care of himself... WHAT????

That first night at my parents was excrutiating. I had lived apart from them for over two years, and I was back in their home. I was grateful and felt relief, but I also felt that I had failed myself. I also felt that I had failed every single person I knew. I made bad choices and decisions, hurt people I loved, and I felt like a huge failure.

I talked to some of my friends that night. They came to my parents' house, sat with me, cried with me, and loved me through some of the most difficult circumstances I had ever found myself in. One of my friends who came was my best guy friend from my high school life. His parents had two boys, and I was like a daughter to them. I even spent the night over there occasionally. He was particularly kind to me after all that happened.

The next morning, I called my wonderful boss and told him what happened. I said that I would be at work the next day, but I had to finish business that day. He was also very understanding and kind about it all.

About mid-morning, Don called. I didn't know whether to talk to him or not, but I did. I'm sure that he would say this did not happen, but he cried and begged me to come back. He wanted to talk to me face to face. Against my better judgment, I went. I took the bus all the way over there, and when I saw him, the addiction, obsession and guilt flooded into me again, and I was back to being the weak girl who couldn't walk away all those months.

We cleaned the apartment together and talked, and he kept telling me how much he loved me. I told him that I wouldn't come back to him unless the violence stopped and we had a future together. He said we could get married by the end of the year, and I decided that I wouldn't give the new apartment up. He could live there until I moved in, too.

By the time I got home, my parents were a little ticked off at me. They laid down some rules of the house. One of these rules was that I couldn't see or talk to Don unless he came to the house.

Addiction. Obsession. Failure. Guilt. Not necessarily in that order.

I went back to work the next morning, spent the day there, and then I took the bus to our new place. My friend came and picked me up and took me back to my parents to get my clothes because, after thinking about it all day long, I decided that I wasn't going to let them tell me what to do. I was almost 21, and they couldn't tell me I couldn't see or talk to him. So, I was moving back in with him.

We got to the house that night. My mom was very upset and wouldn't even talk to me. My dad and I had a very horrible conversation, and I walked out with none of my stuff. I didn't care, though. I was just going to wear the same clothes to work the next day.

My friend took me back to the other apartment. It was July, and the place had no air conditioning, and it was just plain hot. It also didn't have a shower, only a bathtub. Hot!

Don's mom met me when I got out of the car, and she just hugged me, and I cried.

I was back to having to make a choice between two families. Mine and his. Where was I in the middle of all of this?

Feeling like a guilty failure.