I'm really afraid right now.

I am sitting here surrounded by toppled furniture and mounds of my things scattered about. I'm really scared.

For the last 3 days he hasn't used. He's mainly just stayed in bed, not feeling well and taking his Suboxone. He told me this was it, a new year approaching and a new beginning for him.

Today we just parked ourselves in front of the tv. We laughed a lot and it felt nice to be close again. Until Fats decided to start calling and texting. It started off around noon and grew progressively worse throughout the day. "What's up man?" "Hey are you there?" "Let's get some." "Are you alive?" "Please man I really need some." He kept ignoring the messages and I suggested that he tell Fats that he's done and to not ask him to help him get dope anymore. After protesting and telling me he just wanted to ignore him all together, he finally responded with "Sorry man I can't help. I'm done." After he sent this the message Fats just got more desperate and pathetic. "Please! It's the last time I'll ask you!" "I'll buy you some too" "Just give me your contact" "I'll send J over to fix you computer!" (His computer has been broken and he's very anxious to have it fixed.) Finally, he gave in. "I'm gonna do it. Just for the money. Not for the drugs."

I begged. I pleaded. I cried. I reasoned. I followed him out the door reminding him of his promises and to please consider his own well-being and the future of our relationship. He got angry. Said he's sick of my shit and can't handle me telling him what to do. He came back in the house, frantically searching for his keys. He didn't find them. He told me to have a nice holiday because he's not coming back. He grabbed me by the face and pushed me on the floor. He knocked over my stand of dvds, chairs, a lamp.

I'm torn apart. I hate feeling that gut wrenching ache that he choses drugs and his drug buddies over me and this relationship. I hate the words that come out of his mouth and how terribly he treats me. I hate feel so fucking alone and frightened for him. And secondly afraid for myself. I hate that I'm second in my own life.

But somehow this time a small part of me feels okay. I know that I was right. I know that him saying he is going to buy drugs for a friend is intolerable behavior. I know that he is in the wrong and I am just doing my best even though he tries to make me feel like the bad guy. He puts this incredible guilt on me like I'm an impossible person to deal with because I don't approve of him associating with heroin addicts and dealers.

If he's not ready to uninvolve himself from that lifestyle, he is truly not ready to quit. I don't need to justify why I don't want him around these people and those situations. Or that fucking stupid shitty drug. If he really does want to to clean up his life he needs to dump those associated with the addiction. End of story.

Honestly, I don't know if he's coming back or not. I can't imagine that he won't return because he always has, and also all of his shit is here. He doesn't have any money (that I know of) either. So the chances of him coming back are more than likely. I just don't know how I will deal with him then. I've never really asked him to leave this particular apartment. I always just welcome him in with open arms, just glad he's safe and that he's here. Maybe that's my mistake.