Unpopular opinion: when he comes back, it’s not because he finally saw your worth. It’s because his chaos supply ran out.
I know. That one stings. Sit with it anyway.
The Pattern You’ve Been Ignoring
He’s with her—the one who sets his nervous system on fire. The drama queen. The walking red flag parade. The woman who gives him arrests, choas, arguments, push-and-pull, bleeding out in the arena of caretaking and a dopamine hit that feels like being alive.
Then it gets too costly. Too messy. Too real.
And suddenly, guess whose phone lights up?
Yours.
He shows up with that familiar mix of vulnerability and sexual energy. Says he misses you. Says he’s been thinking. Tests the waters with late-night texts that feel like intimacy but function like reconnaissance.
“Is my backup supply still available?”
And because you’ve spent years confusing his chaos for passion and his absence for mystery, you let him back in.
Here’s What’s Actually Happening
You are not his person. You are his pharmacy.
When his heroin becomes unavailable—when the chaos gets her arrested, when she finally implodes, when reality crashes his high—he reaches for the synthetic substitute that:
- Manages his withdrawal symptoms
- Provides baseline comfort
- Keeps him functional
- But isn’t his drug of choice
With her:
Adrenaline. Cortisol. Dopamine spikes. “I FEEL ALIVE.”With you:
Oxytocin. Stability. Peace. “I feel safe but… not excited.”
His nervous system has learned to read:
- Chaos = Passion
- Stability = Boredom
- Crisis = Connection
- Peace = Emptiness
You are his methadone. She is his heroin.
And the worst part? You know it. You’ve always known it. You just keep hoping that one day, stability will be enough for him.
It won’t.
The Function, Not The Person
He doesn’t see you as a whole human being with dreams, needs, and a life of your own.
He sees you as a function:
- Emotional regulation when chaos overwhelms
- Ego repair when he feels like a failure
- Sexual validation when he needs confidence
- Emotional labor when he’s depleted
- Crisis management when he’s coming down from his high
You’re not his girlfriend. You’re not his friend.
You’re his emotional emergency room.
And emergency rooms don’t get love. They get used. Repeatedly. At 2 AM. Without gratitude. Until the patient is stable enough to walk back out and return to their real drug of choice.
His Unconscious Algorithm
His brain has done the math:
- “She’ll always take me back”
- “She’s too invested to really leave”
- “I can get comfort/sex/validation without commitment”
- “She’ll do the emotional work while I recover”
- “When I’m ready for chaos again, I’ll find it elsewhere”
He would rather have 10% of a broken woman than 100% of a whole woman.
Because broken women don’t require growth from him. Don’t challenge his victim narrative. Don’t expect accountability. They keep him feeling needed instead of challenging him to live sober.
You’ve been enabling his addiction.
The Brutal Truth About “Friendship”
When he suggests being “friends,” he’s not offering you connection. He’s negotiating continued access.
Friendship is his socially acceptable way to:
- Keep you emotionally invested
- Maintain sexual tension as an option
- Have someone to call when his chaos crashes
- Avoid the work of actual relationship while keeping the benefits
It’s methadone with better branding.
What You Need to Hear
Stop being available for his convenience. Stop answering when chaos becomes too expensive. Stop believing that this time will be different because he seems more ready.
He’s not more ready. He’s just more desperate.
The chaos will become manageable again. His primary supply will become available again. And you will watch him choose her again. Because that’s what addicts do—they chase the high, not the healing.
You cannot love someone into choosing you. You cannot stability someone into growth. You cannot be patient enough, understanding enough, or available enough to make him see your worth.
The Question That Changes Everything
Ask yourself: Would you rather be someone’s methadone or someone’s choice?
Would you rather be the pharmaceutical substitute he reaches for in withdrawal, or the person someone actively chooses—first, fully, and consistently—even when chaos is available?
Because here’s what I know: somewhere out there is a man whose nervous system reads you as home. Not as a break from chaos. Not as a recovery station. Not as a substitute for his real addiction.
As home.
A man who doesn’t need to hit rock bottom to realize your value. Who doesn’t need his chaos supply to run out before he reaches for you. Who sees stability as strength, not boredom. Who experiences peace as love, not emptiness.
That man exists. But you’ll never meet him while you’re busy being someone else’s pharmacy.
What Leaving Neverland Looks Like
Leaving doesn’t mean you stop caring about him. It means you start caring about yourself more.
It means:
- Not answering when his chaos becomes inconvenient
- Not providing comfort while he recovers to go back to her
- Not accepting “friendship” as the booby prize
- Not believing his temporary need for stability is the same as choosing you
- Not waiting to be picked after the chaos becomes too costly
Leaving means closing the pharmacy.
No more prescriptions. No more refills. No more being available for his withdrawal symptoms while he figures out how to get his real supply back.
You Deserve First Choice
You are not a FUNCTION. You are not a SERVICE. You are not SUPPLY.
You are a whole human being who deserves to be chosen FIRST, loved COMPLETELY, and treasured CONSISTENTLY.
Not when the chaos becomes inconvenient. Not when his real addiction lands in jail. Not when he needs someone to make him feel human again.
First. Always. Every time.
And if that’s not what he’s offering? Then what he’s offering isn’t love. It’s convenience packaged as connection. It’s use packaged as appreciation. It’s addiction management packaged as affection.
The Exit
So here’s your permission slip: Close the pharmacy.
Stop being his methadone. Stop managing his withdrawal. Stop being available for his recovery while he figures out how to return to his chaos.
You are not rehabilitation. You are not a halfway house. You are not a recovery program.
You are the whole goddamn destination.
And you deserve someone who sees you that way. Who doesn’t need to crash to reach for you. Who doesn’t need chaos to become unbearable to choose stability. Who doesn’t confuse your peace for boredom because his nervous system is so dysregulated that only crisis feels like connection.
Walk away. Not because he’s bad. Not because you’re giving up. Not because you don’t care.
Walk away because you deserve to be someone’s choice, not their substitute.
Choose All,
Viktoria
P.S. – If you’re reading this and thinking “but he really does care about me,” ask yourself: Does he care about you, or does he care about what you do for him? Does he love you, or does he love how you make him feel when his real drug becomes unavailable? You deserve someone whose answer is unambiguous. You deserve someone who doesn’t need to lose everything else before they choose you.
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