Jonathan smokes weed. I didn’t know this before we lived together. I mean, I was vaguely aware that he had in the past, but not that he smokes weed every night. Every night, I smell it on his clothes. It’s not my imagination. The scent is unmistakeable. Only burning walnut tree leaves and branches smell similar.
My mother’s “friend” would smoke weed before he came to my room at night. I was 5, maybe 6, and he would come in my room and get in bed with me on nights when my dad was at work smelling of cheap beer and weed. I thought that if I tucked the Care Bear Comforter tightly around my body like a sleeping bag that he couldn’t get to me, but that never worked. The smell brings back the memories.
I suspect Jonathan uses weed to treat anxiety. He is lovingly referred to “Anxiety Man” by a few of my friends who also suffer from anxiety attacks.
Jonathan knows I was physically and emotionally abused as a child. However, Jonathan doesn’t know I was raped by my mother’s boyfriend. Jonathan doesn’t talk about certain things that happened during his childhood but he does allude to those things. The things which happened that he’ll “never tell anyone about”. Since he will never tell anyone, I will never tell him.
We all have our secrets, I suppose.