Skip to main content

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 work triggering the desire to drink. I assumed that much, but I let you tell your truth.

What bothered me the most this time was that I had to do some shopping about an hour away from home yesterday and I stupidly assumed you wouldn’t be drinking until the night came which is your usual routine.  So, I had left the boys at home with you.  You got drunk with our children in the house.  I expressed to you how angry this makes me.  What would have happened if the baby who is too brave on the stairs had missed his footing and fallen down them? What would have happened if our oldest had been hurt in some way? You wouldn’t have been able to care for them properly because of your inebriation.  I won’t be leaving them alone with you again.  It’s not something to be proud of when you can’t be left alone with your own children. 

I’m not happy about your relapse. But this time when I noticed you were drinking again, I chose to take a different path.  I’m tired of pressuring you until you come clean.  Tired of the raised voices and the threat of divorce. I chose to distance myself emotionally and do what I needed to protect myself and the children.  Not to protect us from physical abuse. We are lucky in the way you have never laid a hand on us when you have been drinking. Your style is more verbal, but that can be just as painful.  I protected us in the sense that I limited the exposure to the children.  I chose not to fight so that they would not have to hear their parents screaming at each other with hurtful words, powerless to stop it.  I began to understand that your drinking is not my fault.  It’s not my choice and therefore I needed to get out of the house and create positive, happy memories with our children, instead of dwelling on the negative and painful. 

Your drunken stupor caused you to miss out on some beautiful moments though. You missed our 21-month-old pushing a heavy bowling ball down the lane and then turning around screeching and clapping his chubby hands together in excitement before the ball had even struck any pins, running to the ball return to try to pick up a 14-lb ball by himself to go again. Our oldest had a good time too, thrilled to find he was winning with a score of 98, and overjoyed that mommy allowed him to have orange soda and pizza for dinner.

You won’t remember those simple joyful memories, because by 3 pm on a Saturday you were already passed out, reeking of liquor.  For me, the memory of that evening at the bowling alley will be tainted with the knowledge that you missed it because you were too drunk…again.  But what matters is that the children will have those fun memories of a good night bowling with mommy.  A special day just for us.  That is how I protected them.

I was surprised to find you conscious when we got home.  I don’t think you liked being left out.  Who knows, maybe that’s why you finally opened up as we put the kids to bed. 

You thanked me for my approach this time and claimed you would start going to AA again.  We will see.  For now, we’ll count today as day 1 sober.  As always, the hope is there that you will remain sober, but I’m not holding my breath.  I’m just going to continue to grow in my own way.  To learn how to deal with you and to be a fantastic “single” mother when you force me into that position. 



Love

V--

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

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

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