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Jekyll and Hyde

Michael, I have always compared sober you and drunk you to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. For good reason.   When Dr. Jekyll is present, you are kind, romantic, funny, playful and smart. You put nothing else above your family and you go out of your way to make us happy.   When you are sober, we are happy. We rarely argue, and never about anything serious.   People have told me in the past that they envy the kind of loving relationship we have. I smiled half-heartedly at those people knowing that Mr. Hyde is a sleeping bear and that at any moment the transformation may occur and everything else disappears, shoved into a tight box and shelved for a later date. Mr Hyde came out of hibernation in full-force this weekend. Sunday night I had softball practice and when I arrived home you were already stumbling and slurring your words. I knew you had relapsed earlier this month, and I was waiting for this side of you to appear. You were in bed by 5pm and when I went to ask if you wanted somet
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You Can't Hurt Me If I Can't Feel Anything

Michael,            I hate you for making me feel like a stupid woman when I know I'm not.   I hate how much I love you and that the idea of leaving you hurts me, but what gets to me more is that you know I'm trapped.   I start school in the fall to finally finish my BSN, something I have been unbelievably excited about since I was accepted into an extremely good school.   I will be attending classes full-time and if I take the kids and leave we will lose our health insurance and financial stability. So, I'm stuck pretending I don't notice the stink of liquor on your breath every night and acting like things between us are just fine. Now, because you have relapsed I'm also scared to take classes at night and leave the kids unattended with you.   Just last night I came home and you were passed out on the couch.   Luckily you had already put the kids to bed, but had they woken up needing a parent you would not have woken up.   It took me ten minutes to wake yo
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You Can't Handle the Truth...Except You Already Know It

Dear Michael, Last night as you prepared to put the baby to bed you stopped in the hallway and said to me, “You haven’t said a word to me all day.” I told you I had nothing to say to you and when you asked why I finally cracked and responded with, “Michael, I could smell it on you when you passed out this afternoon.”   You looked away and I was prepared for you to deny it again, for you to tell me that it was nothing and that my anxiety was getting to me again.   Surprisingly, you looked at me and said, “I drank today.”   “It’s not just today, Michael…” “No….” “I love you and I’m not going to fight with you over this, but you owe me the truth.   I deserve that much at the very least.” “Do you want to talk?” “We can talk, but we aren’t going to fight.” So, we put the kids to bed and sat outside and had what I thought was one of our most productive talks.   You were honest when I asked how many days now. I knew it was four.   I always know.   You opened up about wor
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Where'd you go, I miss you so...

Dear Michael, You're right next to me, but I miss you profoundly. I hate that alcohol drowns the man I know is inside you.   You were doing so well for so long that now that the real you is gone again it hurts worse. You go so fast too.   One day you're there and the next you are completely gone.   A shell of yourself stands as a placeholder in our life. I dared to dream that this last time was the time you would remain sober.   Deep down I knew the relapse was inevitable but every day of sobriety added to the hope that I had won over the alcohol.   That I had finally become your priority.   You have been married to the booze longer than me so why should I be surprised that I am, in fact, the mistress?   Your loyalty is to her. You may wish you could let her go and just be with me, but she's a vengeful bitch that won't let you go without a fight and even if the day comes you will always look back and wonder if it was ever really that bad in her arms. Even no
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The Inevitable Relapse

Dear Michael, Last night was yet another night I slept next to you smelling the thick pungent stench of alcohol coming from your breath and out of your pores.   Last night was different though. Last night...I gave up.   I fought every urge to wake you from your drunken stupor and endlessly pressure you until you cracked and told me what you had to drink.   What’s the point? Ultimatum’s don’t work on alcoholics and I can’t force you to want to get sober.   When I noticed the change in your speech last week and your questions of, “Are you alright? What’s on your mind?”(knowing full well that I knew you were drunk and you were preparing to make excuses and blame my anxiety) the excuses to go to the Netto for things we didn’t need, and the sleep talking that only happens when you are drunk, a piece of me died inside.   I initially fought you, but realized we’ve reached a part of your alcoholism that you will no longer tell me that you have relapsed. You fear I will pack my bags and
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