Confirming suspicions

While I was naive and more trusting than any human should be, I wasn't blind.

When we moved, essentially everything was mine — with a lot of stuff still in storage. He had the basics and even a filing cabinet of sorts. Now this is where it gets a little fuzzy in terms of my timeline. Early on, he told me he struggled with a minor pill addiction that he had rid himself of and I think he really believed that. He was either at work or had taken a trip to visit this "ailing grandmother" again when I decided to do something I've never done in any relationship: I rifled through all of his things. I've never had a reason or want to. Almost instantly, I could confirm my suspicions.

I'm not sure what people that do this all the time feel, but validating something you suspect isn't exactly a shining moment. There were scales. Baggies of all sizes. Speeding and moving violations. I felt like I could throw up. Why didn't he talk to me? I could help him. He lied. He lied a lot...what's wrong with me?

For anyone that's ever stumbled upon something they hoped wasn't true, you know how it feels. All of a sudden you're obsessive and looking under any rock you can find. In my head, I told myself how I needed to run for the fucking hills. But then I found reminders for doctor's appointments in Florida. I was so confused. Clearly he was dealing something, but there was no evidence of what. What were the doctor's appointments all about? I had to confront him. I was making myself nuts. When I confronted him, I didn't lay it out my evidence — though, just so we're clear, I photographed everything and emailed it to accounts that no one really knows about. And surprise, surprise, he just confessed.

"I slipped up," he said. "I need help."

I wanted to be mad and discuss, point-for-point each item I'd found, but this wasn't the time. He confessed and admitted to needing help. Around this point at work, I had committed myself to a series on opioids. I had interviewed and followed around people from all kinds of angles on the subject, so I had more of an understanding than most. It did kill me though not to see right away what was happening. I literally writing about people going through the things he was. Didn't matter, I just needed to get him help. He agreed to it, but he wasn't ready. And actually, neither was I.