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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 you up while standing right next to you and physically shaking you.  You were so out of it when you came to that you were calling the dog by our oldest son’s name and trying to wrestle our ten-pound poodle, effectively scaring the hell out of her.  I was grateful Nadia was here so I had someone to talk to about the disappointment I felt.

You've been romancing the drink for the past few weeks, talking about your love for beer and how you can stay in control.  I even told you that one leads to six and six leads to hard liquor.  You swore to me it wouldn't, and I sat there silent thinking, You unbelievable piece of shit. That's such bullshit and you still think I'll believe you. I'm not stupid, just biting my tongue because it's not worth the argument.  You maintained that you could handle yourself, while I knew it was only a matter of time before I found bottles scattered throughout the house.  Didn't take long at all.  Last night after you passed out again Nadia and I went searching. I knew it wouldn't change anything, but I think I needed to see it to really prove to myself I wasn't crazy. 

I couldn't find anything in the kitchen, the laundry room, your pockets, or the car, and was about to give up when I remembered that I had noticed the door to the closet under the stairs was open when I got home.  I went in and it was as if instinct took over.  I turned to the electrical box mounted on the wall in the closet and opened it.  There they were...two shooters of brandy.  I know that's not all you had but it was what you didn't have time to get rid of elsewhere. 


            I figured seeing them would make me cry, get angry the way I used to, throw them at you and demand answers, but instead Nadia and I stepped outside for air and I felt nothing. Just numb to it.  This is who you are.  You are an alcoholic but I do not have to define myself as the wife of one. I am more than that.  I am done confronting you and fighting over it.  I don't want to hear your excuses or your lies that you'll stop.  I'm done supporting you.

I will always love you, but the time will come when I will leave you.  I deserve so much more.



~Victoria
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