It was inevitable I suppose. Once again misplaced faith due partly to my desire to think the best of the people I am drawn to, and partly because the person in question chose to be a duplicitous weakling. This is the third of the Poacher's relapses, but is the last for me I'm afraid as I feel that he is truly destined for the park bench wallowing in white lightning and self pity. I did my best. It was never going to be enough to fill the hole he's been gnawing into himself for years. He is now shacked up with a woman to whom I poured my heart out yesterday...they are drinking together in her house even as I write this...her two kids watching mummy take in another drunk...until he steals her money and puts his fist through her walls, leaves her front door open and leaves fag burns in her furniture. I told her what he did this weekend and that those who enable his drinking are ultimately killing him...but she chooses to believe him with his glistening tear filled eyes...they are very hard to deny.
Whenever I have to go away or want to go and see my friends or do anything for myself he manages to sabotage it. Last month I had planned for ages to go to the Strawberry Fair with my mate , backstage passes etc. The night before he gets pissed at work, hits the head chef then drinks vodka walking back and starts screaming at me when he gets home. I try to throw him out, he screams in my face, I ring his Dad, he doesn't want to know. I threaten him with the police , weep and ask him why? He leaves with Roma, me clinging on begging him not to take her in that state. I don't sleep.
Later his brother rings me, he has Roma. Chris picked a fight with him and three others in the pub and got banged up for the night.
He rang me from the cop shop in the morning. He was sorry. Would I pick him up. He looked bloody awful. He had two black eyes and broken ribs. I couldn't leave him alone in my house, not just because he was ill, but I can't trust him. I tried to be understanding. He came. I drove over some speed bumps quite hard. I can't say I enjoyed the weekend, surrounded by pissed up hippies with a wincing desolate panda trailing around behind. He gets £100 pound fine . His pending appeal to get his driving licence back early due to sobriety is now dead in the water, his ex partner will use it against him in his access hearing. He is ashamed - he says, though I don't see a proper apology to his brother.
He has sunk deeper into depression ever since, no job, no money and he knows he has to steer clear of his drinking buddies. He broods. He won't go out. I run around in circles to try and motivate him. I find him the best psychotherapist I can afford. He is not happy , but he won't open up to me. I finally get him to the therapist. I go back in an hour expecting a sour face but he's smiling, seems positive. Has another appointment Monday (today).
Friday night he seems cheerier, goes to see his brother. When I ring him, he lies about the fact he's actually with his arsehole drinking mates as well. Tells me his brother has done some acid for the first time and should stay with him. I agree.
I have planned to go to Manchester to see mates, get a haircut and run errands the next day. He was supposed to come because it is Carnival day...a community day of binge drinking and settling old scores. He said he wanted to come, to stay out of trouble. Take the dogs up to his brother's in the morning to collect him. They have just got in. They are both totally wired. I kick off because he has fooled me again. He cries says I am being unfair. he has done 5 tabs of acid. We argue. We talk it through. It makes me late but we make things o.k , we kiss each other goodbye.He has decided to stay with his brother and protect the allotment from drunken vandalism.
Three hours later I am having my hair washed and he rings to tell me he has to explain something. I can't hear him, tell him I'll ring him back when I can. Just twenty minutes later and I've lost him...I can hear the alcohol suffuse his voice with rage and blame. I don't engage. He denies he is drinking.I do what I have to do. I ring again, explain that if he has had a drink he can't stay in my house. He knows the rules. He goes mental. He hangs up. All the way back my heart is pounding. My phone keeps going. I pull over. His brother is sobbing down the phone to me , I hear them screaming at each other then at me. I have to hang up. It is lashing with rain. What the fuck is going on? I get another call, he says he is cutting his fingers off one by one and I have to get there fast. I have been done for speeding twice in the last year, but its hard not to floor it and just get home.
I get a call from the police. They have Roma, she was found on a busy stretch of road near where I live. My heart is pounding I swing between terror and anger. The journey is agony. I get another call. He is going to kill himself, why have I done this to him. I can't speak. Tears pour down my face and a stone weight of grief crushes my chest. Why? Something snaps I tell him not to dare top himself in my house as I'm not fecking cleaning it up and turn off my phone.
I go to his brother's house, I'm too scared to go home alone. My camper van is parked outside. The Poacher has taken it and driven blind drunk to his brothers where he starts on me again. I am sorry to say I lose my temper. I tell him he is weak and that he needs to grow a set and stop torturing everyone who truly cares about him. He attacks his brother, he is raging, cowering in terror and howling like an animal by turns. He is threatening to hurt himself and destroy the house ( his brother lives with his parents -they are on holiday). He is incoherent. I can't calm him down. I call the police , I hope they can lock him up for a few hours again, let him sober up. They arrive, he is suddenly calm and they refuse to do anything other than get my van and house keys back. He turns as he leaves with them, and says he hates me and his brother.
We cry for a while. His brother says this is the last time. I haven't slept since.
For two days we don't know if he is dead or alive. In the process of trying to track him down I explain to the colluding woman what has happened, as someone said they had seen them together. She denies it. Offers sympathy. Someone else confirms it. I ring her ask her if he's drinking. She says "only shandy" I cry, she passes the phone to the Poacher he whines about how his brother and I have treated him, he plays to the crowd I can hear in the room. I hang up. I pack his things -anything he can't sell for drink anyway, and dump them on her step. I drive away heart hammering in my chest. In shock. So hurt and most of all feeling really really stupid for putting myself into this situation - being drawn to another lost cause...and paying the price. Back to square one only a lot poorer, two dogs in tow and a desire to move as far as possible from this town...but I have an MA to finish and a demanding job, and I have to grit my teeth and get on with it, trying as hard as I can not to get sucked into his games anymore.
As I only seem to be attracted to utter bastards ( despite the therapy it is very hard to ignore the physical attraction that is somehow intertwined with the vulnerability and lostness), I can't trust myself and must make a solemn oath to learn to deal with loneliness and no matter how long the night, avoid all physical relationships with men as I can't seem to differentiate decency from spineless deceit.
I cringe at what I once wrote about him, why on earth did I think I could save him? I cry at the photos. I love him very much, he can be so lovely, but it is futile. and painful.