I used to think it was so romantic. The band playing some long gone country song. A man with a thick southern drawl, cowboy hat, and boots spinning me around the room. I was swept away by the idea of him. He was cute and charming. He walked into a room and owned it. He was intriguing and everyone loved him. I thought that I had the best thing in that bar.

All of those people that watched him with such admiration were just sad, drunk, and lonely. Maybe high. Definitely high. They were all just trying to fill a void on a Friday night. I soon found out that he was no different. Underneath that facade was a sad, lonely man. I used to think it was cute that he waited all week to go sing Rain Day Woman at that bar. Now I realize that it was just so damn sad. Now, I pity him. The highlight of his week was sitting in a bar. Even a year later, I know that, on any given Friday, he will be at that bar singing some Waylon Jennings song. All the girls will be swooning over his cowboy hat and his Stetson cologne.

Looking back, I know I put myself in a really compromising situation. He was an addict. He was manipulative. However, I think about those times with rose colored glasses. I truly was in a fog, but if you've ever been in "love" you understand what it's like to ignore all the signs. Besides, how can you resist a southern man calling you baby and darling? Sometimes you stick around solely for the fact that you don't want to be alone. Dealing with his mood swings was worth the small moments where I truly felt loved and admired. Or so I thought. As his addiction grew, those small moments became even more of a rarity.

Loving someone with an addiction was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could be that girl that saved him. When I realized what was really going on, I read every single article I could find about addiction; "How to Speak to an Addict", "How to Love an Addict", "What Not to Say to an Addict". I even looked up places where he could get free counseling. I tried so hard to build him up. I would allow him to talk to me about using, because I figured it was better than him sneaking around. I wanted so desperately to help this sad, tortured soul. In the end, I just couldn't do it. I was giving so much of myself and getting nothing in return. I was fighting a losing battle, and for no reason. It wasn't like this person really, truly loved me. He literally couldn't. He was too focused on hating himself. How could someone who hates themselves so much put any effort into loving me?

It was hard to walk away. I worried about him every single day. But I had to realize, his demons were not my responsibility. I had to remove myself from the situation and allow him to walk his own path. As much as you want to help someone, you cannot deplete yourself in the process. That was a hard lesson to learn. Now I know. I will no longer give someone my happiness and peace in exchange for their turmoil and trauma.