Yesterday, 07:19 AM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 07:53 AM by Shootist Comitatus.)
I met Jamie in my early 20s and it was only appropriate that we met at a party. Our relationship lived only in the fast lane, inundated with wild nights out and reckless behavior, all driven by her infectious energy and insatiable extraversion.
She was a beautiful and recent college graduate, with a youthful vigor and charisma that made her magnetic— at first. As we came to spend more time around each other and settle into a sense of normalcy, I realized that her normal was quite different than mine.
The first time I noticed something awry was on a Sunday afternoon. We were both hungover from going out two nights in a row, staying out well past midnight on both occasions. Around 5 PM, she said, “What do you want to do tonight?”
I scrunched my eyes in confusion, “What do you mean? I’d like to recover. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, but we can just go out for a quick drink. It will be fun,” she said, “It’s boring to just sit around the house all day.”
“Babe, I can’t, sorry, but you go ahead.”
She left that night, with me thinking she’d be home in a couple of hours, only for her to get back at 2:30 AM. I woke up to her breathing in my face, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes. She started kissing on me like she wanted to fool around. I gently nudged her off of me.
“I’m asleep. Go to sleep,” I mumbled. She let out a huge sigh and rolled over. This was only the beginning.
I can’t tell you how many times she woke up next to me, groaning with a hangover, saying, “Ugh. I’m never drinking again.”
Only for her to go back out that very night. We had an extremely turbulent relationship and 99% of it was due to the alcohol.
And to be fair, I started drinking more when I was with her too. I take responsibility for that, but it was also a symptom of the toxic relationship. In the beginning, when we were new and fresh, alcohol was fun as it only magnified our infatuation with each other. Eventually, it made every aspect of our time together worse.
The drinking had a fruit-like quality and began to rot and be less cute. We fought constantly. I regret some of the things I said during those heated moments. My immaturity, and inability to articulate myself in a calm, constructive way was evident.
I was also in over my head with her drinking. She was clearly addicted and it took me a year to recognize that obvious fact.
Low points abounded
Perhaps the worst moment for me came after I had just gotten home from surgery on my abdomen. I was feeling weak and needy. I needed help, as I was only a day removed from being in the hospital. That night, I looked over and noticed she was getting ready, getting all dolled up to go out.
I said to her, “Could you please stay in tonight? I need some company.”
She said, “I have to go to Ybor City tonight. It is Jenny’s birthday. She’ll be so angry if I don’t go.”
I left it at that but knew that it was all a cover. Jenny didn’t actually care that much about her birthday (I knew her). And I’d become accustomed to all the justifications for the drinking. It was either just a night out. Or I was gaslit and told I was being controlling by trying to stop her from drinking. The reality was, I couldn’t tell her what to do. She was her own person, despite my pleading.
Mistakes were made on my part. I made completely unhelpful comments like, “Why do you have to fiend for alcohol all the time? Why not take a day off?”
It was purely an expression of my frustration. And I share this because I don’t like stories where people lay all blame on the other partner and accept no responsibility. There’s so much I’d have done differently, especially knowing how things would turn out.
How it all unraveled
I don’t know that we’d have lasted even if she’d been sober, but we’d have stood much better odds. Eventually, as it often happens, I woke up one day during a drive and realized, “All we do is fight.”
She’d been fired from three jobs in the two years since we met. She’d gotten a DUI. Nothing had changed and the drinking had only gotten worse. I knew that if she wasn’t willing to help herself, there was little more I could do. With great agony, I ended the relationship and didn’t date for more than a year due to shell shock. I’d resolved that, “If this is how relationships go, I’d rather be a monk.”
I do think Jamie is a good person at heart. I wish I could have spent more time with those good parts of her, and perhaps I could have done more to help her. It’s hard to reconcile how something that started so beautifully, can eventually decay into something so toxic and filled with negative energy.
The unfortunate conclusion
Fifteen years went by, and I tried to find Jamie on Facebook, just to see what had happened to her but didn’t find anything. Which made no sense. I began to wonder if she was even alive.
Then I searched for mugshots after putting her first middle and last names in quotation marks.
Half a dozen mugshots in Oregon (her home state) showed up. She looked completely disheveled and, candidly, terrible. She looked a decade older than she was. After finding Jamie’s mother on Facebook, I learned she is homeless and living on the streets.
Her mother can’t even find her. After we separated she began a long downward slide and finally got tangled up in harder drugs and eventually, fentanyl. She lived on friends' and family members’ couches for years. She held minimum wage jobs on and off until she burned the last bridge she had and left for the streets.
I feel tremendous sorrow knowing someone that I was so close with has fallen so far and hasn’t been able to get the right help she needs. I can only imagine how difficult her life has been. She had (and has) so much promise and potential.
Yes, Jamie was stubborn as a bull, and resistant to change. But I still wonder if more could have been done. Did I not play a strong enough role in stopping the problem as it fomented early on? Could she have been saved? The eternal optimist in me thinks it’s possible. Or was this her destiny that nobody could steer her away from?
I often wonder what would happen if I somehow bumped into her on the street when she was panhandling. What would happen when our eyes met and we recognized one another? What would I do? What would I say?
I suspect I’d become quite emotional. Even when relationships don’t work out, these people will always remain part of your story. You’d never wish such a terrible fate on them.
It has certainly changed my perception of the unhoused. Knowing someone so intimately, who was on the path, gives you perspective, and empathy for how the progression occurs. A confluence of addiction, mental health issues, and recurring bad decisions, come together towards this inevitable outcome. It feels like you’re watching a slow burning trainwreck that never fully comes to a stop.
Maybe I could have intervened more. Maybe I could have worked smarter, and been less rash in my reactions. I certainly should have sought more expert advice. But I know my eventual decision to leave was the right one, and one I’d probably delayed too long. We can’t be responsible for another person’s behavior. But we are responsible for doing what’s best for our own mental health.
I hope and pray that Jamie finds a better path, and that the scourge of addiction loosens its grip on this country.
Dealing with a similar issue and not sure of what to do? Dial 988 in the United States, which connects you to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. They have experts and resources that can help.
(edited for punctuation)-sc
BY: Sean Kernan--Yahoo
![[Image: main-qimg-c26ab26a6e4e07221bc838eb21bd7627]](https://qph.cf2.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-c26ab26a6e4e07221bc838eb21bd7627)
She was a beautiful and recent college graduate, with a youthful vigor and charisma that made her magnetic— at first. As we came to spend more time around each other and settle into a sense of normalcy, I realized that her normal was quite different than mine.
The first time I noticed something awry was on a Sunday afternoon. We were both hungover from going out two nights in a row, staying out well past midnight on both occasions. Around 5 PM, she said, “What do you want to do tonight?”
I scrunched my eyes in confusion, “What do you mean? I’d like to recover. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, but we can just go out for a quick drink. It will be fun,” she said, “It’s boring to just sit around the house all day.”
“Babe, I can’t, sorry, but you go ahead.”
She left that night, with me thinking she’d be home in a couple of hours, only for her to get back at 2:30 AM. I woke up to her breathing in my face, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes. She started kissing on me like she wanted to fool around. I gently nudged her off of me.
“I’m asleep. Go to sleep,” I mumbled. She let out a huge sigh and rolled over. This was only the beginning.
I can’t tell you how many times she woke up next to me, groaning with a hangover, saying, “Ugh. I’m never drinking again.”
Only for her to go back out that very night. We had an extremely turbulent relationship and 99% of it was due to the alcohol.
And to be fair, I started drinking more when I was with her too. I take responsibility for that, but it was also a symptom of the toxic relationship. In the beginning, when we were new and fresh, alcohol was fun as it only magnified our infatuation with each other. Eventually, it made every aspect of our time together worse.
The drinking had a fruit-like quality and began to rot and be less cute. We fought constantly. I regret some of the things I said during those heated moments. My immaturity, and inability to articulate myself in a calm, constructive way was evident.
I was also in over my head with her drinking. She was clearly addicted and it took me a year to recognize that obvious fact.
Low points abounded
Perhaps the worst moment for me came after I had just gotten home from surgery on my abdomen. I was feeling weak and needy. I needed help, as I was only a day removed from being in the hospital. That night, I looked over and noticed she was getting ready, getting all dolled up to go out.
I said to her, “Could you please stay in tonight? I need some company.”
She said, “I have to go to Ybor City tonight. It is Jenny’s birthday. She’ll be so angry if I don’t go.”
I left it at that but knew that it was all a cover. Jenny didn’t actually care that much about her birthday (I knew her). And I’d become accustomed to all the justifications for the drinking. It was either just a night out. Or I was gaslit and told I was being controlling by trying to stop her from drinking. The reality was, I couldn’t tell her what to do. She was her own person, despite my pleading.
Mistakes were made on my part. I made completely unhelpful comments like, “Why do you have to fiend for alcohol all the time? Why not take a day off?”
It was purely an expression of my frustration. And I share this because I don’t like stories where people lay all blame on the other partner and accept no responsibility. There’s so much I’d have done differently, especially knowing how things would turn out.
How it all unraveled
I don’t know that we’d have lasted even if she’d been sober, but we’d have stood much better odds. Eventually, as it often happens, I woke up one day during a drive and realized, “All we do is fight.”
She’d been fired from three jobs in the two years since we met. She’d gotten a DUI. Nothing had changed and the drinking had only gotten worse. I knew that if she wasn’t willing to help herself, there was little more I could do. With great agony, I ended the relationship and didn’t date for more than a year due to shell shock. I’d resolved that, “If this is how relationships go, I’d rather be a monk.”
I do think Jamie is a good person at heart. I wish I could have spent more time with those good parts of her, and perhaps I could have done more to help her. It’s hard to reconcile how something that started so beautifully, can eventually decay into something so toxic and filled with negative energy.
The unfortunate conclusion
Fifteen years went by, and I tried to find Jamie on Facebook, just to see what had happened to her but didn’t find anything. Which made no sense. I began to wonder if she was even alive.
Then I searched for mugshots after putting her first middle and last names in quotation marks.
Half a dozen mugshots in Oregon (her home state) showed up. She looked completely disheveled and, candidly, terrible. She looked a decade older than she was. After finding Jamie’s mother on Facebook, I learned she is homeless and living on the streets.
Her mother can’t even find her. After we separated she began a long downward slide and finally got tangled up in harder drugs and eventually, fentanyl. She lived on friends' and family members’ couches for years. She held minimum wage jobs on and off until she burned the last bridge she had and left for the streets.
I feel tremendous sorrow knowing someone that I was so close with has fallen so far and hasn’t been able to get the right help she needs. I can only imagine how difficult her life has been. She had (and has) so much promise and potential.
Yes, Jamie was stubborn as a bull, and resistant to change. But I still wonder if more could have been done. Did I not play a strong enough role in stopping the problem as it fomented early on? Could she have been saved? The eternal optimist in me thinks it’s possible. Or was this her destiny that nobody could steer her away from?
I often wonder what would happen if I somehow bumped into her on the street when she was panhandling. What would happen when our eyes met and we recognized one another? What would I do? What would I say?
I suspect I’d become quite emotional. Even when relationships don’t work out, these people will always remain part of your story. You’d never wish such a terrible fate on them.
It has certainly changed my perception of the unhoused. Knowing someone so intimately, who was on the path, gives you perspective, and empathy for how the progression occurs. A confluence of addiction, mental health issues, and recurring bad decisions, come together towards this inevitable outcome. It feels like you’re watching a slow burning trainwreck that never fully comes to a stop.
Maybe I could have intervened more. Maybe I could have worked smarter, and been less rash in my reactions. I certainly should have sought more expert advice. But I know my eventual decision to leave was the right one, and one I’d probably delayed too long. We can’t be responsible for another person’s behavior. But we are responsible for doing what’s best for our own mental health.
I hope and pray that Jamie finds a better path, and that the scourge of addiction loosens its grip on this country.
Dealing with a similar issue and not sure of what to do? Dial 988 in the United States, which connects you to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. They have experts and resources that can help.
(edited for punctuation)-sc
BY: Sean Kernan--Yahoo
(Yesterday, 07:19 AM)Replying to Shootist Comitatus I met Jamie in my early 20s and it was only appropriate that we met at a party. Our relationship lived only in the fast lane, inundated with wild nights out and reckless behavior, all driven by her infectious energy and insatiable extraversion.
She was a beautiful and recent college graduate, with a youthful vigor and charisma that made her magnetic— at first. As we came to spend more time around each other and settle into a sense of normalcy, I realized that her normal was quite different than mine.
BY: Sean Kernan--Yahoo
