Kids, Lucifer, drugs, work. Our life was full of love and fun and I absolutely adored it. I had come a long way from the depressed, scrambling, single mother who loved her kids fiercely but cursed God for not being as supportive to me as I thought I deserved. Things were perfect now, aside from the fact that I was a functioning drug addict. And as much as I loved it, the drugs were now killing me. Even I could see it.
Quit meth. Quit coke. Cold turkey. No sweat.
(For the record, there was actually a lot of sweat. And blood. And tears. Getting clean ain’t for the faint of heart. It fucking sucked. #seriouslykidsdontdodrugs)
Immediately, Lucifer can’t handle it. He starts beating me. Not one to let myself be abused (or so I thought), I put him in jail. I visit him each day, and he cries, saying he’s so very sorry. Says I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. Says he needs to marry me and he’ll never hurt me again.
Lucifer gets out and gets clean like me. I’m so proud of him.
When I’m one month clean, I get taken to court over custody of my kids. They test my hair, see that I used, and take my kids. I can only see them one day a month and I have to be supervised. The same restriction a child molester gets. But they say if I can test clean in 3 months they can come home and I will keep custody.
I keep clean.
I test clean.
I’m proud of myself.
They take my kids from me with a temporary custody order and say in 9 months they will test again before making a permanent decision. Wait, what?
I stay clean. Test every 3 months for 9 months. Perfectly clean. Not even weed. I want to use so bad but I never do. Not once. I am perfect. I’m at least allowed to visit them unsupervised now. I’m working full time again. Lucifer is clean too and not hitting me at all. I have an in depth home study done on me by the courts. They determine (in writing, I still have the letter) that they see no cause for the kids not to live with me. My family starts to forgive me. We’re so hopeful. We’re so proud we did the right thing and the kids are coming home.
At the end of the 9 months, they permanently decide my children can no longer live with me. How it’s explained to me is better safe than sorry. It’s admirable that I quit and for that I can keep non custodial custody with extended visitation (as well as another year of drug testing, just in case). But the kids are never coming home. At least not for a long, long time.
My kids don’t understand. I don’t understand. (Even now, a couple years later, I still don’t understand) My lawyer says in a few years we can try again. For now, it’s over. Plus, my retainer is out and I don’t have the money to retain him for an appeal.
I want to die but know I must do the best I can for my kids, even if they don’t live with me anymore. I want drugs again. It seems pointless that I quit. Honestly, kind of seems like all of this started when I decided to quit. But I know if I let myself go back to drugs, sweet sweet drugs, that I will die. Or worse, I’ll live and never be allowed to see my babies. Not an acceptable option, no matter how good it would feel.
I stay clean. I keep working. I pass all my drug tests. I visit my kids with every moment of free time. Lucifer is right by my side through all of it. I’m so thankful for him. We dream of our future together. The kids will come home, we’ll get married, maybe in a couple years have a baby together. We will name her Chloe.
But then, money starts disappearing. Lucifer is cranky all the time. I keep catching him in lies. When I catch him in lies, he hits me. I find out rent hadn’t been paid in 3 months. He hits me. He tries to rip the last few dollars I have from my hands. I won’t let him. He hits me. He punches my head and screams at me that I’m a stupid bitch. I hold on to my money and start yelling for help. He runs away.
His family blows up my phone. Lucifer is upset and suicidal. “What did you do to him?!”, they ask me.
Lucifer calls me 3 days later to confess he’s back on coke. He’s been using for several months. He used every bit of money we had, including what he told me we paid to bills. He’s so, so sorry. He loves me so much. The kids and I are his whole world.
I want to use so badly. I’m jealous he has been using without me. I crave my drugs but I dont use. I’m disgusted with drugs.
His mother is checking him into rehab. “Please wait for me”, he begs me. He tells me he can’t make it unless he knows he has my support. He didn’t mean to hit me. It’s the drugs. He needs help. It’s not his fault. No, he’s a victim too. If anyone understands that, it’s me, right?
Of course I understand and forgive him. Of course I’ll be there for him. I love him. We’re going to get married, after all.
I write him a letter every single day. I join the rehab’s women support group. I go to their church service each Sunday. I’m not allowed to sit with him but we can look at each other and we do. I find out where they house the guys at. I sleep outside his window in my car as many nights as I can. Just so he can see me. Just so he’s not alone. I am the most dedicated woman ever. Of course, this is my future husband. I’m faithful as fuck. I work two jobs and borrow money from family. I catch us up on rent so when he gets out he has a home ready for him. On my weekends with the kids, I take them to the family visit days at the rehab. Lucifer asks the kids for their forgiveness and asks for their permission to marry me and become their real step dad when he gets out.
His letters to me show a new man. He is humbled and clear headed. Pages upon pages he writes about his love for me, his desire for every part of my body, his regret for getting back on drugs. He wants to be a man of God now, not the little boy he had been acting like. He’s so proud of me for staying clean and working so hard to hold down the bills on my own. He insists that when he gets home, I need to cut down on work and get some much deserved rest. He sounds like an angel. My Lucifer. My beautiful angel.
A few weeks before Christmas last year, Lucifer came home. He was so healthy and patient and humble. And absolutely beautiful. We made love non stop for like, the first 9 days straight. The kids stayed with us the whole winter break and I was so happy. I thought it was finally time. That I was finally forgiven by God for my sins and it was the start of a new day. I could feel God’s grace on me and I knew, beyond a doubt, that I was on the right path.
I wish I could add, “and I was”.
To be continued….