I Married An AddictThirty years ago I was living in London. I got very close to my wonderful gay neighbor and met his brother: Andrew was nine year older than me ( I was 26), a successful graphic artist, gorgeous, educated and smart and just out of rehab for heroin. Romance followed, we had a wonderful time and he told me he wasn't interested in "using" any longer. One night he took me out to dinner and asked me if 'I would have his babies, after marrying him, of course'. We got married, we were very happy for a while, then Andrew started to change, to disappear frequently, to get frequently sick and to get jealous for no reason. He wore long pajamas and wanted lights out during sex. One day he collapsed, went to the E.R. and I had to face the facts: the manipulations, the lies, the emotional blackmail. My husband was on heroin again. I tried to discuss it with him, but it would only lead to scenes and fights. One day I packed my clothes and went to stay with a friend, Andrew came over and begged me to come back. He went back to rehab and I went back to him. This happened two more times.
Three weeks later after his last rehab stint, Andrew woke up in the middle of the night, went to the bathroom and came back to bed. The next morning he was dead.
Thirty years have passed and I am still wondering if I could have saved him.