After a few months in Dallas, I finally managed to stop using dope and coke. As much anger as I had (and maybe still have) for Devon for ultimately choosing dope over me, I'll always be indebted to her for driving me to quit.
Trying to care for Devon and myself in Texas, trying to hold it all together, trying to cover her crimes and lies and bad checks and scabs and track marks, and endless nights of fighting and crying and picking her up off the toilet seat when she had nodded out while peeing and carrying her to bed with a pair of tired panties around her ankle--these things eventually broke me.
Trying to keep the straight life, going to work hungry with no more than 75 cents in my pocket--not enough for the bus but still enough to buy some candy so I could get through the day--all while she was sitting home getting high every day made me tired.
So eventually, I began to hate her. Not really hate her because I loved her and still love her but rather I hated that this darkness was inside her. I began to resent the drugs and the whole lifestyle. And it was exactly this anger and resentment that drove me away, that made me feel nauseous at the very idea of getting high. That' s why I'll always feel indebted to her.
So the tides began to take us in different directions. I was finding my way back to shore, while Devon was getting pulled ever deeper into some seriously cold and dark fucking water.
That's about when I got involved with Alana. More on this tomorrow.
5:56:43 AM 
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