Truth

Most days I feel like my life is an illusion to the majority of people watching. Maybe no one is watching, at the very least, not many people read these posts, which I'm okay with. I started writing again for myself because to be honest, I don't really do anything else for myself anymore. Well, with the the exception of ensuring my obsession with sweets and caffeine is satiated daily! I read some good advice last night from another blogger who is "making it" and she said, show up every day and write for yourself, the people will come. If they (you) come, wonderful, I really do hope the things I write about can someday help someone other than myself in someway! but if not, that's okay too. I'm still going to be here and that is a start to breaking down this illusion, and building a life of truth I can be proud of. When I started this blog I told myself I wouldn't write this post, not for a long time anyway. I didn't feel it was mine to write but it is, because it's my life, and unfortunately the life of thousands of others. If we all decided it wasn't our story to tell then we would all continue to feel helplessly and hopelessly alone.

I've always heard others say, every family has secrets. I'd venture to guess that throughout my family there are many; many that are unbeknown to me, but it's my little family of four I think of when I hear someone say that now because we have barely been surviving with our "secret" for far too long. I told my husband I was going to write this and his eyes went wide as he realized what that meant and said, for the blog?! I said, Yes, Craig, for the blog. What's the point of having a blog I say is about all the thoughts in my head and being honest about those thoughts if I'm going to leave out the biggest part? I reminded him of the blog that inspired me to write again and to be honest and open, to share rather than hide and he nodded, reluctantly, but he nodded. Despite his (and my) fear and hesitation over this post, we both know that our secret is one that plagues too many families and ruins too many lives and if I'm serious about this being my self therapy, which can hopefully help others someday, well, it all comes back to... if not now, when, right? So, deep breath, here's me taking off the kid gloves when it comes to walking the walk....

I live with an addict, an alcoholic, and anyone else who lives this life can attest that life with an alcoholic (any addict) is pure misery. Perhaps some who believe in such a place might call it hell. My life, like yours, for those living with an addict, has been swallowed up in lies. The endless lies my alcoholic tells to the lies or half truths I tell to keep this secret; a secret I kept or denied to myself for years, in part out of fear that people knowing the truth would just make him drink more. In part, because I didn't want to hear what others had to say, or feel their judgements. In part, because I thought I could fix him myself, by loving him, shouldn't that be enough? I smile as I write that because as a former therapist I am fully aware of the irrationality of that belief and I know like the rest of us know, an addict has to WANT to change and no one and nothing can do that for them. Those words mean nothing to those of us who love an addict though, do they? They also say an addict needs to hit "rock bottom" (whatever that may be) to want this change... I believe we who love them need to hit that same rock bottom, and mine is now. Mine is in excepting that the love for my addict, my husband, is completely overshadowed by resentment, even hate at times, anger that is more of a fury than just plain old anger, fear of the possibility of raising our kids without him, fear of raising them with him, and desperate longing for the life I know we could have, if only......

We've all lived in that "if only" wonderland, it's what keeps us here for those who don't understand why we don't just leave. My husband, like so many alcoholics, is very successful in his career, never misses a day of work even when he was getting drunk most nights. He's a wonderful father, when he's sober. The kids both excitedly run or crawl towards the door as soon as they hear him come home. He gets up with them on the weekends so I can sleep in, helps with baths, helps with dinner, changes diapers, plays with them, hugs them, loves them. When he is sober, he is a wonderful husband and father. He also has never been violent, though I tend to use this as an excuse to stay. For those of you who are saying, this is my life or was my life, you know as well as I do that just because we are thankful that we are not in a physically abusive situation, those hurtful, hate filled drunken words your addict says ring through your head and heart every day and every night. They are there even when you are sitting next to the man you fell in love with, not only when you are screaming hate filled words back at the drunk man you wish you never met.  Some days I wish that when I woke up I could forget those words like he does, go back, like they never happened. But they did and they cut like a knife and I scowl as that childhood riddle comes to mind... sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.... because some words do hurt and some are damn near impossible to forgive. Unfortunately for me, forgiveness has never been one of my more endearing qualities. I hold grudges and I remember and I hurt.

Though more than wishing I could forget, I feel trapped. Trapped like I am trying to claw my way out of a tower with nothing to grip to start my climb, with the walls closing in on me and no one can hear me scream. Except of course my kids when I yell over something as trivial as my toddler making a mess, just like she's supposed to be doing. My patience is low and some days I feel like I can barely breathe. Like a trapped animal, scared, this often evolves into unparalleled anger. I slam kitchen cabinets to make myself feel better but would prefer to take the dishes and smash them outside. I'm easily frustrated and angry and inside yelling at myself, there's no reason for this little thing to make you angry, get a grip! So, I eat a cupcake or go buy a white mocha (or both) and I'm okay. Some days I actually get anxiety if there isn't something sweet in the house. Thankfully I was blessed with good genes and a high metabolism! My daughter actually says coffee or cupcake every time we pull into a parking lot now which I can't help but giggle at just a bit. Bottom line is, my babies don't deserve a mean mommy just because I can't handle this life with an addict.  I feel many are stronger than I am, can handle this myriad of emotions more gracefully, with less anger, with less resentment, with less yelling! That's never been my personality though. My mom calls me "passionate about the things I love". So, I try to tell myself, I must REALLY love my husband! I also know fear can cause equally passionate emotions in people, so I worry my inability to handle things less dramatically is more out of fear than love. It's very difficult to remember the person you love when the addict becomes that person because there is no love for the addict. Like the rest of you living this life, I don't hate my husband, I hate what alcohol has done to him but I especially hate what it has done to me. The only time I remember having such anger was when I used to drink, a lot, in college. It's part of many reasons why I rarely have even one drink now. I didn't like that person I was then (another post at another time) and I don't like the person I have become now either.

Some may be thinking, you need to get some help, you need to leave, you need to do something.... Please don't judge though, it's always easy to look in from the outside and say what you would do.  But do you really know what you would do? No one can know, therefore you would just be assuming and we all know what assumptions are... I used to think I would know too, until it became my life. I'm still trying to figure it out day by day. Isn't that what recovery is, day by day? On January 2, 2012 my husband decided, after a three day binge which the kids and I didn't stay around to watch, that he reached the point where he couldn't stand what he saw when he looked in the mirror and that he wanted to get better. He's started the slow recovery process and has found a meeting that helps but he has slipped in these 5 short weeks and it's these slips I find myself unable to deal with. The hope of recovery is just that, hope. The disappointment of losing him to a bottle for a day or two is indescribably devastating because crushing ones hope over and over again leaves one hopeless. He has said he waned to stop before  but never acted on those words and never really meant them. So while he works to recover from this disease that traps everyone, not just the addict, I'm trying to figure out how to recover too. The issues of trust, trying to move past the years of lies, secrecy and pain along with the inability to communicate about anything of substance, for fear the wrong thing will drive him to drink, is all consuming. Without family or our close friends anywhere nearby, without having become a part of the Jewish community here yet like I had planned to (we moved out of state 5 months ago), without any time for ourselves because as any parent with young children knows, they take up every waking minute (and when we are lucky, sleeping minute too) all I have come up with to help myself on my road of recovering from life with an addict is writing. I know there are a lot of people just like me out there. So, if my writing can help me recover, maybe it can give you hope too. And maybe when your hope is crushed like mine has been so many times over, you won't feel hopeless and alone, because you're not.


Thank you in advance for your comments being respectful rather than judgmental.