My husband announces, “You don’t need to yell at me. I know I’m an idiot.” My heated response, “No, you’re sick.” Then I leave him to his recovery.
I’ve been down this road before. It’s not my first rodeo. But I have to say I’m sick of the bullshit. When married to the alcoholic, even during times of abstinence, the cycle always continues.
I spent last night alone. Following a step study with a group of women, each working through their own recoveries, I came home to an empty house. I turn on the television to suffer through an episode of The Dutton Ranch waiting for my husband to return home. As the hours tick by, I find myself in bed reading The Silent Patient, an excellent book that tackles substance abuse and marriage.
Still no husband, no text message and no idea of his whereabouts.
This morning I’m pissed, for so many different reasons. My emotional state is heightened as I consider how insensitive he is. Doesn’t he consider our marriage and how his drinking impact me? No, he’s just be a selfish alcoholic. Isn’t he bothered that I won’t be able to sleep, knowing he could be face down in the gutter? No, he’s just a selfish alcoholic. Doesn’t he consider my recovery, the work put forth to prove to everyone we are not those people? Now I am the selfish alcoholic.
The only evidence of his night is a bicycle, mangled, blood stained. He woke early for pickle ball, while I remain in bed, missing Yoga because of his actions. It’s exhausting being married to the alcoholic.
The Prescription for the Sickness of Alcoholism
What do I do? I linger in bed, too exhausted to get up. My emotions fueled with bitterness and resentment. I consider my friends; who can I talk to? Who would understand? Then I think of the woman, who sat next to me earlier in the evening. She too is in recovery for alcohol and remains married to the alcoholic.
We are out there and we don’t have to go it alone.
I reached out to my new friend I met in recovery. She told me everything I needed to hear, reminding me that I have no control over my husband and I need to give to God.
It doesn’t mean I can’t be mad but I can’t allow my husband to steal my peace. So I continue with my morning and notice I have a hit on a piece I wrote earlier this year, Recreational Drinking, When the love for fun turns into the lust for alcohol. My own words provide the comfort I need to reconcile my feelings.
I find healing through writing and by publishing I let other’s know they are not alone.
My husband returns home, guilty. I distance myself giving him time to digest his actions and decide to write. I hope my words find the woman who is facing the same problem.
Thank you for being here for me, listening to my rant. Hopefully my words will provide comfort and hope. Recovery is possible, but it’s a choice.
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