The most recent man I was with is my child’s father. He has never, not even once, done anything nice for me. I have no idea how I ever felt in-love with him. He treats me awful. We first met in 2016. I was living alone at the time and had just left my ex. There will be more about him later. Anyways, sometime between the years 2013-2016 I had become addicted to heroin. I will talk more about this later as well. Anyways, I chased the dragon for about 3 months. My ex and I had become addicted together. We decided to put ourselves on methadone but, after we broke up I could not afford rent alone and the high price of methadone. I attempted to quit cold turkey. It was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. As soon as the withdrawals began I developed Restless Leg Syndrome. My bones ached, my nose would constantly run, I had extreme anxiety and panic. I could not sleep at all and I was suffering immensely. I was vulnerable. I was hurting. I was afraid and lonely and not in an ideal situation to meet somebody new, especially a new man. Albeit, I agreed to meet him (my child’s father) after he offered to come over and keep me company while I went through withdrawal. He had seen a post I made on Facebook saying I needed a friend. We had not known each other and I think had only spoken one time. He came over in the evening. It was summer and I had recently gotten my hair cut very short. I had lost about 20 pounds because of all the heroin my ex and I were smoking. I did not look like a “junkie” but I probably did not look too good either. I have always been pale complected but I looked sallow, sweaty; another wonderful withdrawal symptom is hot and cold sweats. I was sleep-deprived and incredibly sad. He had taken the train to my apartment and found it quite easily based on my directions. I honestly did not know what to expect from him. I simply wanted company and somebody to talk to and take my mind off my present hardships. When he entered I immediately smelled something unpleasant. It was an acrid smell of sweat mixed with dirt and bodily oil. It took me aback and I tried to cover my nose without him noticing. He was much taller than me, by a foot. I am only 5’4”. He was disheveled and unkempt. His dark brown hair was long, thick, greasy and not brushed. His beard was long and wiry. His clothes were covered in dirt and grass stains. He had just come from working all day as a landscaper. Anyhow, we exchanged hellos and he pulled out a bottle from a backpack he had brought. It was homemade kombucha. His mother had made it with her own recipe. I hate kombucha. The fermented taste of bacteria is not a pleasant taste for me. He said he had brought the drink over for me. That it was “good” for me. I did not want to seem impolite so I took out two glasses and poured ourselves some. He gulped his share down quickly and I slowly sipped on mine trying not to gag over the vile taste of overpowering yeast.