Friday

 Firefly laid around, healing, gaining weight, and being miserable for five days. I took her to a doctor's appointment. Her clothes remained packed in her car. I never offered for her to move back. We never discussed it.

Thursday night, she told me she was going out with a friend to eat. She showed me a set of text messages to collaborated the claim. They seemed contrived, and the ones before were deleted. I was against it but was not going to hold her against her will.

She wasn't out long, between two and three hours. If she did eat while she was out, it didn't make a dent in her appetite. She ate again when she returned home. Her persona changed upon her return. Firefly was restless and fidgety. She didn't fall to sleep. She tossed and turned and complained about nightmares. It indicated to me, she did something. 

Sometimes a lack of evidence is evidence. I search the few things she had in the spare bathroom. I found a half pack of dope or crack in a mostly empty make-up bag and flushed it. I didn't find a crack pipe. She would throw that fact back at me later.

Friday, I went to the office in the morning. "Don't go anywhere," I warned her before I left. 

"I'm tired," she complained. "I'm not going anywhere."

For being tired, she did very little sleeping. She was downstairs on the couch when I returned in the afternoon.  Firefly returned to the bedroom and watched TV but didn't fall asleep. She got up and took a shower around 5:00 p.m. It seemed like most of her actions revolved around avoiding me. "Are you going out?" I asked.

"I don't know. I am just taking a shower." 

Despite her words, it was obvious she intended to leave again. Later, she told me she was going to Applebees. "Take your stuff with you if you go out."

This started an argument. She maintained she did not do any drugs the previous night. I told her about the pack I found. It was not an empty pack. We argued over the situation. She insisted I've wanted her gone for weeks, and that was true. I never said she could move back. I feel bad when she has nowhere to go, but I feel like she doesn't make staying here a priority. She doesn't try to keep me happy, and she isn't pleasant to be around. The majority of the time is spent getting her clean.

She complains that everyone gets rid of her or that no one wants her. I thought to myself, if that is the case, at some point, you should be looking at yourself, but I don't say it to her. She tried playing on my sympathy. "I have no money for food and gas. I'm going to lose the weight I've gained."

"Firefly, you always have money." Indeed, some dude was always willing to give her money--whether for sex or for free. "You just choose to spend it on drugs."

She tries denying this, but we wouldn't be having this argument if it weren't true. This brings me back to my complaint. If living here was so important to her, she would make more effort to maintain the arrangement. She hasn't. This doesn't motivate me to continue putting up with her. 

She made sure to post images on her Instagram indicating she went back to the city to get high with the same dude she has been hanging around with lately. He doesn't have a car and uses her for rides to the city. he doesn't care about her health. Pictures displaying a false appearance of happiness.

I slept comfortably alone and enjoyed the peace.

 

 

Spring

I wrote the last blog post Friday morning. Later that evening, I went to my friend Jay's for a beer.  Firefly showed up at the house in bad shape. She smoked crack all day on no sleep. She was twitching and incapable of putting thoughts together. It took me a while to calm her down, including threatening to call the cops and have her committed.

It has been five days now, she hasn't left the house alone. I took her to the doctor's appointment yesterday for a refill on suboxone. She has not unpacked her things from her car, and I have not suggested that she should. 

She needs to gain weight and muscle. She needs to create a plan. I don't mind her sitting here watching TV and sleeping, but that is not a long-term fix. I will be going back to the office soon. I cannot watch her forever. She needs to watch herself.

Currently, I am working my way through editing Dave's book.  It is a good experience for me. Sometimes I fear I am heavy-handed, but I am not trying to be critical. I am editing it as if it were my own work while trying not to change his story.  

El Charros

 Yesterday, I made plans to have dinner with Firefly. The forecast called for rain, so I decided to make an appearance at the office before dinner. Why waste a nice day going into the office? There were few people there. I stuck around till about 4:00 and headed home.

On my drive, I received a text from Firefly. "Going to the city right now. Do you want to help me with money one last time because you love me oh so much?"

"No, I don't." She knows better than to ask but still does.

"Please, I am not going to be able to hold food down if I don't find money."

I tell her, "If you can't make dinner tonight, we can always reschedule. Just let me know."

"I'm coming," she replies, punctuated with a sarcastic eye-roll emoji.

We meet at El Charros. I arrived first and ordered us a table. Because of the situation, restaurants are only at half capacity, and you cannot wait inside for a seat. El Charros provided chairs spaced around the entrance for waiting customers. The rain had stopped, and the evening was still warm enough to sit outside, so we did. It didn't take too long, most restaurants are not busy.

Firefly wore a pair of high-waisted jean shorts that displayed her pale legs and a thin cream-colored long sleeve top. I wore jeans and a grey tee-shirt I'd picked up in Moab, Utah, during our road trip with an olive drab jacket.

"Your green jacket is in the truck," I told her. "You left it behind." The night was not cold, but it was damp and too chilly for her outfit. I retrieve her jacket for her.

She is thin but eats ravenously, declaring it is the first time she has eaten today. Food comes below money and drugs for an addict. Firefly tells me she is making plans, but she does not have anything solid yet. She wants to go back to a place she was in once before in California, but they won't take her if she is on Suboxone. She thinks she will detox her first then go there. She still has a lot of details to figure out.

By the time we finish eating, it has started to drizzle. We give each other a quick hug and a kiss in the parking lot and head our own ways. She is staying at a hotel nearby. 

Another Departure

 Firefly went out yesterday evening to get Suboxone. She returned later than expected with three, but it was evident right away she returned with other drugs. She stayed up late hiding in the bathroom complaining about stomach issues, but I wasn't buying it.

"You've been in there for an hour and a half,  don't try telling me you aren't smoking crack," I text her.

"I'm on the toilet," she replies.

"Yes, smoking crack. I told you not to go out. That would have solved all your problems."

I went to bed. There was no use arguing with her in the middle of the night. When I woke at 4:30 in the morning, she was not next to me. She was downstairs. 

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm sitting downstairs. I want to take a bath. They say baths help with digestion issues." 

I went over to the spare bathroom and looked into her robe pockets while she was downstairs. The cigarette lighter in one pocket yesterday was missing, and the green cord she uses to tie off had returned.

I ask her, "the green cord is back; does that mean you are shooting up too?" There was no doubt she was smoking crack.

"Don't worry about it. I'll leave after I take a bath and hopefully go to the bathroom."

While I was exercising on my bike in the basement, she packed her things. Firefly descended the basement stairs wearing jeans, a black cami that exposed her midriff, and a beige thigh-length sweater. I was playing a game on my phone while pedaling. Her sudden presence startled me. She had done her make-up. She looked good but a little thin. Though, I know the long sleeves of her sweater were covering bruised arms and fresh needle marks.

Firefly asked me to help her load her belongings into her car, and I did. We said a quick good through the car window. "I hope you find what you need," told her.

She pulled out of the garage. I motioned for her to hand me the garage door opener on her visor. Firefly rolled down the window and handed me the small plastic opener. I squeezed her hand a few moments, then she was gone.

Later, strolling through the house, cleaning counters, and taking inventory of what she left behind, I found myself feeling as if I had failed too. The house feels quiet and empty now. It is just my perception of the surroundings, but it is a reflection of how I feel inside. 

Authors

 I just realized one of my favorite authors, Glen Cook, is seventy-seven. His last book, Port of Shadows, is one of the worst in the Black Company series. I doubt he will write any more books. My favorite author, David Gemmell, died in 2006. There are no other authors I have enjoyed more. There have been a few other authors over the years that I have cherished but non come close to these two.

I have decided to start writing something new. I put my fantasy novel aside to write something that takes place in the current times.  I feel it would be easier to blend nonfiction experiences into a fictional tale.

Firefly is here holding on by a thread. On Easter, she wanted to leave. I told her she could do what she wanted, but it would be with all of her belongings if she left. I was not bluffing. She started packing to see how far I would take the charade. I helped, placing all her shoes in a bag by the door. She declined to pursue the idea and went back to bed.

She is trying but has several things against her. The intensive outpatient therapy is not open right now because of Covid, she is out of Suboxone, and her next doctor's appointment is not till Thursday. I am willing to help her develop a routine, but it is up to her to take it seriously. That is asking a lot. 

Splitting Hairs

 I went over to Alexis's house to get my hair cut last night. She complained about not being able to get signed up for a vaccine. I don't think she tried very hard. In my area, anyone that wants the vaccine can get an appointment. She texted me this morning at 6:30. "I got an appointment at Walmart on Monday. Fuck the health department website.

I got a call from Firefly while I was with Alexis. "Is my Suboxone at home?"

"Yes, it is in the top drawer of the dresser."

"I am on my way home."

"Okay, I am out getting my hair cut." I didn't ask any questions.

When I got home, she told me they were making her wait another 24 hours before giving her Suboxone. She absconded. Her rationale was she had Suboxone at home; why wait. She didn't consider that it is a holiday weekend, and she does not have enough suboxone to get through the four days. At best, it will be a long weekend for her.

Demons

When the days are cold and the cards all fold

And the saints we see are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail and the ones we hail
Are the worst of all and the blood's run stale

I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you
But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come... Demons, Imagine Dragons

My mind is fixated on the past--balancing on a fine line between hate and love. The love is masked as indifference, but that is just a lie I tell myself.  I am torturing myself, and I don't know how to break free.

When things are quiet, and let me be honest, they are quiet too often. I lash out at Billie in my thoughts. I can have a vicious tongue, even in thought. I need to let it go, but I don't see it happening anytime soon. It has been eighteen months now. I try reminding myself that things are not worse. They are just different without Billie. 

*     *     *

On another note, I received the first Phizer vaccine shot yesterday. I do not have any side effects today. The damage to my ceiling is minor, but I am taking Dave's advice and getting the ceiling replaced.  I'd do it myself, but the ceiling is 7.5 x 8.5, which means it would take three pieces of drywall and a lot more mudding than I feel like doing on a ceiling. I am currently getting the insurance company run around and will be totally frustrated before this is through.

I will probably decide it is easier to just do it myself in the end.