Slap

I was with friends at the festival and the guy singing was not all that great. It's loud and hot and I'm not altogether with it but it is good to be out. I feel a tap from my friend..
"... weh bwoen aopweor over there?" He's pointing and his voice is getting drowned out by the crowd and singer.
I look and I don't see anything in the direction that looks interesting to warrant this so I look back at him with a confused face. 
"Isn't that Jeff?"
I look back confused.. Who? I don't know who I'm looking for. There are crowds of people and no one that seems familiar. So I look more and still feel confused so I look back.
"Who?"
"JEFF! Over near that trash can."
I look back, "who's....
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And it hit. Reeling like I had been struck by someone in the chest. It was surreal. The universe slapped me hard and I felt everything intensify. I'm sure it all happened in a split second but it seemed to take an eternity. I stared back to see my ex Jeff. My ex who had inadvertently broken my heart. I say inadvertently because he didn't seem to be a willing participant and yet it was because of his choice. And he didn't see me...and I didn't think I wanted him to. All these feelings of anxiety, fear, and hurt came back. And I was instantly sad and lonely all at once. It was almost as if the world had disolved, the music, the crowd, my friends, everything. And then the crowd came back into my ears and I pulled my eyes away. I was trying to decide how I should be reacting to my friend that had pointed him out. I was at a loss and I looked back and watched him walk down the street.

The short "interaction" with a ghost left me retreating into my head. I wasn't really sure what to do. Part of me wanted to go say hello to him but I was sure that the conversation would be superficial and unfulfilling. What could be said that hadn't already. What was it I could talk to him about?

He had broken me. He had made me dig deep inside of myself to find strength to let go of love. No one should ever be forced to do that. It was one of my biggest trials in this life. I'd like to say that I won the battle and yet I'm the one that got hurt. I don't know if he ever felt the loss or pain that I did. I don't doubt that he loved me, at least at one point, but did he feel the pain?

 Addiction is a strong force and I learned a lot about it in the year and a half that I was with him. I was so happy to have found such an amazing man and I enjoyed getting to know him. I did learn early on that he was a recovering addict. Aren't we supposed to forgive people's pasts and not judge them for it? And so I continued to fall in love with him. Over time he learned to love his drugs again, though I suspect he never really stopped loving them, and I learned to be codependent and try and bandage the gaping wounds he was forging in our lives. I spent a year pretending things were better than they were; convincing myself that I was only going to make it worse if I left; doing my best to create the facade because things would get better... wouldn't' they?

I know that it could have been much worse had I stayed, but leaving? Do the experts and counselors understand what it means to leave? Do they know that it's not the addict at that point that gets hurt. Do they realize how tough it truely is for those of us that love the addict and want them to be the person that they are when they are/were sober? Really I think that one of my biggest problems with the end of the relationship was that I was the one that was hurt and he got to go on in blissful ignorance induced by his drug filled stupor. I had to reach in and pull my still loving, beating heart out and leave him. And he asked me not to go. He said he would stop. And I had heard that before. I finally accepted that I was defeated and the drug had so much more power than I ever could. And I left, but I didn't feel good about it. I didn't FEEL like I was doing the right thing. This was not fair! FUCK HIM!

Pain

Unbelievable pain.

In the aftermath I felt cold hearted. I felt mean. I felt like I was the one that was the asshole and not him. Isn't that ironic? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't cause this damned problem and I couldn't fix it! Why couldn't I fix it.

....And so I stood there on the street with all of this pain resurfacing. All the hopes for the man I loved resurfacing. All the pain.... Part of me wanted to go over and kick the shit out of him for the pain that he's caused me. And another part, perhaps codependent or the love, thinks that it was the drug induced stupor and it wasn't that he was choosing the drugs over me but the drugs were choosing him.

As ghosts do, real or imagined, I watched him disappear into the crowd. I looked for him for the rest of the day not sure what I would do if I saw him. And then he appeared again on the other side of the street. Maybe I should say hello... Maybe I should..  He isn't the person now that I was in love with. People shouldn't talk to ghosts. It's not good for them. Let the past go. There are unresolved thoughts and questions but he can't answer them. No one can. And so I caught myself walking forward towards him. Let him go, my heart screamed. And so I did. Again.

Pain.