Post 9
Are you there Satan? It's me, Morganne.
Guess there's really no reason for an intro, I'll just continue my conversation from the other day. After he went through the entire house, searching through every closet, every cabinet, every drawer, couch cushion, chair cushion, under beds and dressers, behind the furniture and miscellaneous decorations, etc. in search for... well, that's the beauty in it all. I swear on my children's existence, I have absolutely no clue who/what he was searching for. At one point he had my mother's living room side table, which sits about two feet tall, with three wooden drawers, on its side, with each drawer removed from it, and a flashlight, searching up inside the drawers. I couldn't believe what I was seeing by this point.
Do you understand Satan, that you are destroying my best friend in the universe and his soul from the inside out, one shot at a time? His brain cannot keep up with all of these completely off the wall ideas you are planting in his head, trying to get him to complete some tasks for you, or just plain torturing him mentally for no reason at all. He's mentally and emotionally beat down and exhausted. Are you listening? He's FREAKING EXHAUSTED.
He did it again, in the kitchen last night. I was so angry with him for doing his shot with you before dinner, that I think I might have blown a couple of fuses up in my own brain before I could even call my children down to eat. I was one fuse away from exploding on anything and everything, but I chose not to judge, took a deep breath like my dad always taught me, didn't think with my emotions, and decided I'd tolerate it for the night. I did that, until I couldn't. I couldn't hold it in, and I couldn't hold my tongue for a second longer, and I snapped. I ended up with his hands squeezing the utter and inner daylights out of me, both hands around the base of my throat, and thrown clear across the kitchen floor, hitting the closet sliding doors like I had just been sprinting towards them. They shook off the hinges, and I heard the inside of the closet crack, which means I more than likely broke part of the sliding door, but that unfortunately was the least of my worries.
I was scared. Actually afraid, where it gives me, the cold chills just thinking about what it felt like right after it happened, and I opened my eyes up at him, watching the stare from his beautiful brown eyes, glancing at me like he wanted to slit my throat, with full intentions on doing so. I remember sitting there, praying, as fast as the words would come out. "Dear God, please grant him mercy, and grace. He doesn't mean it. He's manic, and he's sorry. Please forgive him, and forgive me for hurting him, or upsetting him the way that I have. Let him know how much I love him please and put his heart at rest. thank you, God, in your name, Amen. I won't sit here and bash him or demean him, gossip about him, or talk badly aside from the raw true facts with the situation in its entirety.
The moral of the story is this: Men should not mix uppers and downers, (heroin and methamphetamine), not ever. He does it anyways, although I plead for him not to, every, single, day. It's absolutely unheard of, it's obnoxious, and it's annoying. It's draining the life out of me already, and regardless of our situation, or he said she said stuff, every other two to three sentences out of his mouth, are disgusting, rude, hard to take, disrespectful, inhumane, spiteful, malicious, and unkind. The stuff he says to me I wouldn't dare that kind of pain or hurt, embarrassment, numbness, or fear upon my very worst enemy. I swear to God. I'm sure you could imagine the sick, twisted, and demented things is man has blurted out loud at me, leaving both my children completely mind blown.
okay... enough for today, my head is spinning in circles out of anger and confusion, on what the heck I'm supposed to do at this point, and where to turn, and my heart is breaking just thinking about the right thing to do.
God knows I won't be coming to you for any advice.
I'm sure I'll be in touch with you soon, whether I like it or not.
always,
morganne devney
