Hope

Well, sometimes there is hope. Hope in the form of just one meeting.

After my last post, which was somewhat sorrowful (sorry!), I put my foot down and hubby & I had a non-fight. I say "non-fight" because I was doing all the fighting. I had so many fighting words built up that I had to let it all out. He didn't really fight back. And, amazingly, he listened. Not to every word, because I was spewing, but he got the gist.

After I had let it all out, he said, "So that would satisfy you? If I went to a meeting? Print out a schedule. I'll go."

Really?

So I gave him a couple dozen options in our area. And it took about a week. But he went. Today. And he talked about it when he got home. It sounds like it was a positive experience. He found people at all different stages of sobriety. And they sound very accepting and encouraging. He says he'll go back. Tomorrow. *little happy dance*

Part of his resistance over the last month had been that someone told him he had to be sober 48 hours to go to a meeting. That wasn't happening. I looked it up & aa says that you only need the "desire to be sober". Once we cleared that up (in our non-fight), the path was clear to going. The other people at the meeting were understanding that he wasn't sober yet. They accepted this and encouraged him to keep coming. That one day he would get there.

So today, I am hopeful. Hopeful that there is life beyond alcoholism. It will be a long journey, but he has taken that first step. A step that he had feared and dreaded, but he took it. I am proud of him.

The Beginning

Well, where do I begin?

Not at the beginning. That was too long ago. Back when there was innocence. And freedom.

So I'll start in the now. I am sharing myself here because I need to air my dirty laundry somewhere. And I can't do it at home. I have 300 friends on facebook, all of whom I know in real life, and yet I'm so alone. I know everyone, and everyone knows me. But they don't know that I suffer behind closed doors. They don't know I'm in pain. They don't know that I am angry and sad and disappointed and lost.

My husband is an alcoholic. There. I said it out loud. Probably for the first time. He is ill and he won't do a damn thing about it and he is taking me and my children down with him. And he doesn't see it. Or he pretends he doesn't see it. I don't know anymore.

But I do know that I am tired. So very, very tired. Tired of the lies. Tired of the broken promises. Tired of the fighting and the covering up and the fear. Fear of the future. I used to have hopes and dreams, but now I am just afraid of what the future holds. Will he lose his job (again)? Will we lose the house? Will he crash the car? Will he hurt one of the children? How am I going to survive this? Who am I going to become because of this? I don't want to be a bitter old woman.

I am tired of trying to hold this family together on my own. He's not my partner, he's another body that I have to take care of. I feel like I'm taking care of everything. I'm holding on for dear life to every piece I can. And that means I'm not actually living. Everything is on hold. All my energy is spent on just surviving. One. More. Day.