In my introductory thread, I talked a bit about my father and the unhealthy relationship we had, in which he provided me with drugs and alcohol as a young teen, did not enforce boundaries, and taught me nothing of self respect. In this thread, I'll go a little further into detail about his continuing drug abuse and how it mangled an already fragile relationship. Years after I had gotten clean thanks to my first pregnancy, my father's health declined. He had Hepatitis C and a whole list of complications from it. He always swore to me that there was no chance he contracted the virus through dirty needles, and I had given him the benefit of the doubt. Until right before Christmas one year. My husband and I were newlyweds. We had been through a couple scares regarding my father's health and well-being which pushed us to move in with him, so we could help with his diet and medicine routine. We found a big house in the city with a basement apartment for my dad, and we all moved in. Everything went great for awhile, but soon I became concerned about some of the visitors he was having. He was adamant that he was not doing drugs, and neither were his friends. Looking back, I should've known better than to trust him. I only asked him to not invite the friends in question over anymore, because I could not reasonably trust them. After all, my 5 year old daughter was upstairs. I didn't want to take any chances. One night at dinner, my father seemed out of sorts, so I asked what was wrong. Could I help? He snapped at me, telling me to leave him alone. I was taken aback, but figured he was just in pain and not feeling well. The next morning, I went downstairs to check on him, but he was gone. Maybe he had just gone for a walk. I went about my day, until I received a text from him informing me that he was in the hospital. I immediately got in the car and headed there. I had texted him before leaving, asking him what was going on. When I arrived in the hospital lobby, I checked my phone to find a new message from him. As I read what he had typed, my knees went out from under me and my heart sank to the floor along with my body. He was "so sorry", but he had shot up some bad meth into his arms and had almost had them both amputated. I struggled to breathe as I made my way to the elevator to get to his room. At the time, I was so scared for my father. When I reached his room I began to sob uncontrollably at the sight of him. His arms were bandaged and he looked horrible. He apologized with tears in his eyes, and assured me he would be alright. Later that night, back at home, I lay my head in my husband's lap as we sat on the couch in silence. The Christmas tree gave off the only light. I felt my heart shatter again and again as the situation sank in. My father had babysat my 5 year old while my husband and I worked. My god, what have I done? What have I exposed my baby to? The next morning my husband went into my father's apartment and found spoons and needles. My father came home in time for Christmas, but things were tense. I was becoming more and more angry with each passing day. I felt betrayed. I was having nightmares. It was hard to speak to him. We blew up at each other one afternoon. He screamed at me to get out of his house. So my husband and I got some boxes and began packing. We were out within a week. A year passed without much incident, but then my father began asking when he could babysit again. The answer was never. He would have to be satisfied with supervised visits with his granddaughter. Another year passed before my father informed me that he was leaving the state. He told another family member that it was because I never let him see my children. It didn't make any sense, and only made me angrier. It's been a few weeks since he moved away, and I'm still trying to find a way to fully forgive my father. I can't wrap my head around the fact that he endangered my family. That cuts deep. That doesn't heal easily, if at all. I worked hard to provide a safe, drug free life for my family, and who did he think he was to ruin that? I don't have nightmares anymore, but I still can't tolerate the idea of meth. If there is anyone here struggling with a meth addiction, think of your family. Think of how much you are hurting them. Consider them. Don't ruin your relationships.