Ending a Toxic Relationship

There are some things I haven’t mentioned about Picasso, and other things I found out about over time. Something must be wrong with me to put up with any of his unacceptable behavior. I couldn’t be that lonely, could I? My self-esteem was shot, because I was struggling in other areas of my life. Every time I had a bit of self-confidence, I was shot down and had no other support system – except when I headed to happy hour. I wasn’t happy with the work I did, and that is a really important thing to me. This was also during the time I didn’t know whether or not Big Liar ended his own life, which weighed on me. 

As it turned out, Picasso’s apartment was not his place, as claimed when I met him; he lived with his father. A few times when his father stayed at his girlfriend’s, I went over. The place was uncomfortable, and I hated being there. It was dirty and gross, which explains where Picasso learned about cleanliness, or lack thereof. 

Picasso was always broke, even after payday; and since he had no driver’s license, started asking me to drive him to work and other places. His job became inconsistent over time, then he found another job working like 60 hours a week, so he said. But he still never had money, except to buy his energy drinks and cigarettes.

Also, did I mention… 

I don’t recall how long after we met, but Picasso told me he had been out of jail for two months after spending nine months this time. 

Jail? This time? WhatTheFuckAmIDoing? 

Picasso was open and honest about his history, said he doesn’t use anymore and won’t ever go back to that again. He learned his lesson, emphasizing that he’s “older now” and was involved with the wrong people. This time, Jesus saved him. Mmmmkay. I didn’t think Picasso lived the clean Christian lifestyle to claim that. Sometimes I took things he said with a grain of salt, because what people say and what they do often differ. 

“What did you do this time?” I asked, assuming it was drug-related. 

“This time, I robbed a bank. Before that, drugs.”

What?!!

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t imagine this physically harmless guy as a hardened criminal, much less a bank robber! It took a while to process. Picasso’s reason for robbing the bank was he hit rock bottom on drugs, and his druggie girlfriend dumped him for a drug dealer, because he had no money. Picasso thought if he showed her he had money also, he’d win her back… and that is how drugs affect the brain, folks! Somehow his charges were lessened, because he had no weapon during the robbery, and he left with no money. He’s not a violent criminal, just a stupid one.

For his birthday, the sister picked him up to see his mom. Being stuck in her vehicle, Picasso couldn’t leave. He texted me while it was happening, saying he wished he did something with me instead. He called me, literally crying his eyes out that he wanted out of there. It was really sad, because he was so excited earlier. The sister met their mom in a strip mall parking lot. The mother got in the vehicle, and the two of them shot up intravenous drugs while Picasso sat in the backseat waiting for his birthday lunch. She then exited the vehicle — and that was his visit with his mother. Happy Birthday!

Knowing all of this, my heart went out to Picasso. With a sick, shitty family, his chances of recovery were slim in that type of environment. I saw how much he really wanted his life to work out; he had hopes and dreams, but he was also without direction. Over time (and this was only a two-and-a-half-month period), his behavior changed, and he became all about himself more than ever. He was becoming a person I didn’t want to know. 

When Picasso started a new job and moved in with his friend, he started going out and partying a lot. I knew it was only a matter of time before he weakened. His communication changed suddenly, like he was blowing me off. I knew something was up, and my first thought was that he found someone he liked his own age. Knowing he was meeting young women at his job, it wouldn’t surprise me; in fact, I expected it. I would not expect someone his age to remain faithful to a woman my age. I told him if he’s seeing someone then just tell me, but he swore he wasn’t. 

A couple weeks later, our relationship ended, not because of infidelity — but because of drugs. Since I hadn’t been around it before, I didn’t see the signs of his pill use. My family member recognized it the night of the memorial service. Now the sister’s phone calls and his strange and insensitive behavior that night made sense. They were both using together. Gross. 

He knew I wouldn’t allow any of that in my life and confessed it was the reason he stopped communicating and seeing me, saying he didn’t want me to see him that way. I was really sad that Picasso went down that path again, but I saw it coming. He kept hanging out with people that weren’t good for him, including his sister, who was arrested again. His drug use ruined his friendship with the friend he lived with, and he was kicked out. 

We were broken up for a few months when Picasso contacted me out of the blue, crying and begging me to pick him up, because his best friend threw him out of the house. I could tell he was fucked up on something, told him I had to work. I wasn’t about to enable him, and I wanted nothing to do with him. But I did want to know what the hell was going on. When I learned the truth, I told him he was poison to me. 

I contacted Picasso’s best friend/roommate to ask about the situation. He said he found needles and found out he’s been using since before moving in. He has no place in his life for junkies, and Picasso will always be one. Picasso didn’t pay rent or pay for anything, including food, etc. The roommate was extremely upset, because this could put the custody of his children in jeopardy. Apparently, Picasso went out all night until four in the morning. He forgot his key, so he broke a window to get inside. This infuriated the roommate, who threw all of Picasso’s belongings into the front yard. 

The only person to pick up Picasso was his dad, who took him to some type of recovery center where Jesus saves. I sure hoped someone saved him, because he won’t last long otherwise. 

Two years after we broke up, Picasso found me out with my friends at a popular place. I don’t know how he found me, except that it’s a small town – but it was strange when I turned around and there he was. He looked a lot better, healthier. Said he’s sober thanks to Jesus; this time he’s serving the Lord and going to Bible school. He was married for a few months to someone from the church and divorced five months prior. It sounded like another twisted story — and even more bizarre is his wife looked exactly like the evil sister! Everyone could see it, so you can only imagine the speculation of their weird relationship. Yikes, and yuck. 

Picasso profusely apologized for everything he put me through and insisted I forgive him. I believe part of his recovery was apologizing to the people he hurt. I told him it is what it is, and no big deal. As long as he stayed on the right path, I wished him the best. There was no reason to have any hard feelings against him, especially because he was so young and stupid. I was happy to know he was clean and not attempting to rob banks. We still follow each other on Instagram, and recently, he married again. I sent him a message giving them both my blessing. 

After the relationship with Picasso was said and done, I needed a break from dating. He really wore me down, so it was nice having my house back knowing no one is going to fuck it up. I also wanted to meet healthier people without criminal records. Again, I still question how my self esteem was so low that I felt the need to put up with shitty treatment from people in my life – especially the men I dated. 

After a few months off from dating, I went on Bumble, because I heard it was a nicer version of Tinder (it was at first). I wanted to find people to do fun activities with, and if something worked out, a boyfriend. I had no expectations and was open to meeting friends at the very least. 

Now is where my blog takes a circle, because I have already written about most of those experiences. I haven’t decided yet whether I want to rehash those or move onto something else; and some of them I never care to think about again. 

There are a few endings I haven’t completed. 

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