Thirty years old forever

Editor's Note: We asked for your stories about addiction. We asked you to share your story, whether it was first hand as an addict or as someone who knew someone struggling with addiction. Here is our first account. The woman wishes to remain anonymous.
As I write this letter, I am currently doing so on the back of my son's Batman coloring book, which is something to keep in mind while you read this. I am the unapologetic girlfriend of an addict who lost the battle of sobriety.
I'd first like to say what people perceive addicts to look like is not usually the case. My boyfriend was devilishly handsome, hilarious, witty, generous to a fault, open minded, forgiving, and loving beyond comprehension. We did normal things - vacations, hikes, movie nights, star gazed and made so many plans for a future. He loved my son with a love that knew no end. They loved each other, loved playing Nerf battles, video games, making pancakes. He wanted nothing more than to be a father and my son and me the world.
Not all addicts are homeless, thieving criminals; most are not. Chris never wanted to hurt anyone. I believe whole-heartedly that's why he never told me how bad things were. He shielded us from his pain and smiled through it for us. It must have been incredibly painful.
I myself have never danced with addiction. I was naïve and didn’t see what was in front of me, I knew he drank often and took too much of his prescribed Xanax, but I had no idea what beast was really present. I often snooped on his phone, searched his house. He even passed drug tests. I never saw it coming.
Our last conversation was a fight, a fight I punished myself with for months, staying up late rereading the awful things I said. Hating myself every millisecond. We were arguing because I found out.
To best describe the aftermath of his overdose I’d say, picture being riddled with rusty shrapnel that exploded from the grenade of addiction. Now picture being too afraid to remove it because you fear you will bleed out and never survive it. Slowly I have removed some, but some I have decided to keep, because to remove it all would be an impossible task.
I have been judged greatly by being the girlfriend of an addict. People assume I too must be an addict. I have lost friends and family over my choice to not give up on Chris. My son still asks about him. He is 5 and cannot understand. I told him Chris is in the stars watching us. I still trip on Christopher’s clothes and Katie’s (his beloved dog) toys. I can’t listen to a lot of music or even drive by his apartment.
The days of saying “They need to hit rock bottom” are over. Rock bottom is a slab at the morgue in Chris’s case.
There is help out there. I saw firsthand how difficult receiving help can be when insurance and money are concerned. Don’t give up; people can and will help if you really want it.
I can never speak highly enough about Eric Koster and his beautiful wife. I reached out to Eric the night before Chris passed. He was 100 percent ready to use any resource he could to help Chris. I stayed up late writing Chris an intervention letter, but it was too late.
Don’t let it be too late for you. You are loved, you can change the end of your story. I can promise you will break the hearts of the ones you love most, the ones who you’d never want to feel pain. This is 100 percent your responsibility.
Don’t stop trying to get well. Re-set, re-start, re-focus as many times as you need to. And believe me, addiction is not a spectator sport.
I’ll see you on the other side of the stars, Christopher.