The dogs ate my husband's methadone. I'm not joking. It really happened.
He just phased up, which means that he gets to take home a few doses of methadone at the time. Those of you who have been reading for some time might have noticed that my husband is rather irresponsible. He left one of his doses on a table in the living room, and one of the dogs got it. The bottle was all chewed up, and there was red and sticky methadone goo all over the floor. He likes to learn everything the hard way.
So today, he didn't have a dose. He became convinced that he was dopesick well before it was anything anywhere near physically possible for him to feel the effects of missing a dose, and it sent me to a real bad place. Immediately, I'm trying to figure out how this is a ruse. I'm thinking that he isn't ready for take home doses. I'm thinking he's too irresponsible to live with. I'm thinking that I don't think I'm ever going to be able to be around dopesick again.
I did a good thing, though, I think. I took him to a relative's house and let him lie around and whine and punch his legs and do his thing there. I called a friend and we sent shopping together and had lunch. I cleaned my car and my house. I've eaten good things, and I dyed my hair. I haven't called him, and he hasn't called me. I'm going to bed now, content with life.
Painting by Magritte