Hi love,

I suppose I should just be happy you’re not taking pills these days.  It’s been a month, I think since you’ve had narcotics.

Unfortunately, you are now drinking us into the poor house.  For the record, I just want you to understand that it’s not “under control” to have four beers and four shots at the bar and then come home with another six-pack and drink the entire thing, then pass out on the birthday eve of one of our children and miss the cake and ice cream/happy birthday singing.  You will argue that you weren’t slurring your words or staggering around, but I really don’t give a shit.  When you’ve been drinking like that you’re mean, boring, embarrassing, and a complete asshole. This little stretch here is the most I have seen you drink on a daily basis in our entire relationship.  It’s ridiculous and I am OVER IT.  I just walk away from you.  Thank God you’re not a “follower” so at least I can get some peace.  This morning I am going to see if you plan to drink today, and if you do, the kids and I are out of here.  We’ll go to the movies, we’ll go to the beach, we’ll go bowling, we will do something, just not with you.

Oh, congratulations on the potential new job.  You’re lucky to have kept the old one this long. I hope you don’t fuck it up.

Love,

Me

Nothing new…

April 24, 2009

Hi love,

There’s nothing new, really.  Feeling fine, wind up in pain somehow, fill a script, get high all week with an especially lovely episode of me finding you sleeping on your knees with your forehead on the floor, run out of your month-supply of meds, feel surprisingly fine, and the beat goes on.

I did put an end, I believe, to you constantly getting high with your kids and their friends.  “Once in a while” you will do it, you say.

Whatever.  I choose to stay here so why the hell should I complain?

Love,

Me

What it’s like…

April 10, 2009

Hi love,

I left a comment for someone and I think I may have offended him… I’m not sure.  Maybe I just made him think.  He’s an addict like you but he acknowledges it, tries to control it, and seems to actively battle it.  He’s not where you are.  I guess maybe I wanted to show him how bad it can get once it’s out of control.

A lot of times I come here and I write out all my anger. Anger is so easy.  It’s right there on the edge, harsh and blaming, devoid of personal responsibility.  I like anger.  I’m comfortable with anger.  I let it out and it’s like my chest opens, the rage explodes out and dissipates, and I feel clean again.  But I’m not.  Because anger isn’t really a feeling; it’s a symptom.

Do you want to know how it feels to love an addict?  To love you? 

It’s enraging.  There are times when I lash out wildly, like I’m tied here to you, like I’m married to your disease and I’m unable to free myself from it.  You promised to love me and care for me and protect me, and here I am, feeling unprotected, unsafe, and constantly waiting for the next disaster and that really pisses me off. 

It’s scary.  You go to work every day and my stomach is in knots, so much so that my counseor put me on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication.  Will you get in an accident?  Will you find more pills?  Will you stop at the bar?  Will you bring home a bottle? Will you put our family at risk with your behavior? Will you be fired?  Will you die in a car accident/of an overdose/of a heart attack/of liver failure from the stress your addiction puts on your body?

It’s disconcerting.  Addicts are liars and you lie to me.  When we were first together I couldn’t tell, but you slipped, then you slipped again, and I found the pattern and learned what you sound like when you lie.  But do I really know when you’re lying?  What if you’re not, and I’m saying you are?  I don’t want to risk your rage, so most of the time I say nothing unless I know for certain you’ve been using or drinking.  Even then you deny it.  You deny it until you’ve run out of avenues and once in a while I get the truth.  When you lie to me, be it an outright lie or a lie of omission surrounding your addiction, part of my trust in you is destroyed. There’s not a lot left now.

I worry about the impact your addiction has on our children.  Your children have already suffered from it.  One is an addict himself.  The other is codependent to the point where he doesn’t want to ever go anywhere for fear that he won’t be here if you need him to care for you, a situation he lived with when he lived with his mom and that is now being recreated here in our home.  The last, your princess… she’s broken.  She doesn’t trust men.  She has constructed a huge fortress around herself.  I’m lucky she lets me in.  Not many people get to see the real her, and even still I know she’s sequestering her feelings.  Your kids… your babies… they’ve grown up with addicts and they are damaged and hurt.  As for my kids, they’re still young.  My son worships you and I worry about him emulating you.  My daughter, well… she sees you.  She is 12 years old and she watches you with disdain because she’s smart.  She knows your tricks and lies. You have caused me pain and she sees it, feels it, and she struggles with loving you. That angers you but you don’t want to take responsibility for it.

Mostly, being married to an addict is lonely.  Baby, I am so lonely.  I miss the clarity in your eyes.  I miss laughing with you.  I miss our awesome sex life.  I miss feeling safe and protected.  When you pass out, be it day or night, there is this huge, empty hole in me.  I used to try to wake you and get you to come to bed, but you usually won’t wake up so I sleep alone in the bed we used to share.  Until your addiction got out of control, we had never spent a night apart.   I miss the even sound of your breathing, the way your hand always found mine in the middle of the night, you curling up behind me with your legs entwined with mine and your arm around me.  That was just two years ago.  Where are you?  Are you coming back?  I miss you so much.

This is no way to live for either of us.  The scary thing is that it feels like one day you were okay, and all the sudden you lost your grip and that was it.  That is what it’s like being married to an addict:  anger, fear, distrust, confusion, constant worry for your safety and that of our respective children, and loneliness all balled up into a glass of vodka or a handful of narcotics.  You swallow it down as I stand helplessly, watching our family crumble.

Love,

Me

Respect: none

April 7, 2009

Hi love,

You were right when you suggested I don’t respect you anymore.  How could I?  You get high with your underage kids and have them score weed for you, and you get drunk and thick-tongued in front of them because you’re drinking with your meds, and when you ask me to tell you if I think you’re out of control and I do tell you, you blow me off.  I think it’s disgusting and your goddamned right I’m judging you on it.  They already have one fucked up parent.  Let’s give them another one!  

The best I can do is to continue to shelter my kids from your erratic, irresponsible behavior.  They really should be living with their dad full time and seeing me on weekends right now.  For the time being I continue to stash money away, which is increasingly difficult as your alcoholism is currently picking up speed and you are spending all our money on your addiction.  You ask me straight up if I think you’re an alcoholic and I give you an honest answer, and then you scream at me about it.

I just sat there yesterday watching you with your kids, letting your younger ones smoke and smoking with them and I just thought… my God.  What a bunch of losers you created.  You – not your ex-wife – YOU.  Sure, she had something to do with it but you’re under the impression that you’re some kind of “hero” who saved them from her insanity.  You were part of the insanity.  You were part of the drama.  It makes me sick to my stomach and I can’t wait for the lot of them to walk out the door and just be gone again.  I am so over you making excuses and flying into rages about how intolerant and judgmental I am.  Well guess what, honey.  Welcome to the world.  You and your entire family are a walking invitation to a Jerry Springer show.  

I have got to get out of here… just a few more months and I’ll have enough money to leave.

You know what is really sad and pathetic?  I still love you.  I still want you.  I don’t want to leave you but you are hurting me and you’re a bad influence on my kids.  You embarrass me in front of my family.  You make choices that put your life and the security of our entire family at risk.  This is just eating me up inside.  I keep thinking you’re going to get your head out of your ass but it’s not happening.  How long am I supposed to hold out hope?

Love,

Me

Never ending

March 20, 2009

Hi love,

Any idea how much longer this bottle of pills is going to last?  Because I would really like to sleep in a bed where you have not nodded off with food and/or beverage and spilled it.  Thankfully our bed is large and the mess has so far contained itself to your side of it.  Your doctor gave you an enormous amount of pills this time, which means this is going to drag on and on and on. 

You had a therapy appointment yesterday and I noticed you were completely sober for it.  She still knows you’re using, though.  You do realize that, right?

Sadly, you weren’t able to keep yourself under control in front of the kids this week.  For the most part you held off until after they went to bed, but they and I ran a lot of “errands” every evening and you pretty much stayed in the bedroom.  You nodded off outside while you were smoking a couple times and they saw you.  I was honest with them about what was going on. My daughter looked annoyed.  My son looked sad.  He wanted to go wake you so you wouldn’t burn yourself with your cigarette and I wouldn’t let him.  We talked about being codependent and that if people help you, you will never help yourself.  Of his two father figures you are his favorite and I worry about the damage you’re causing him.  Just because your meds were prescribed to you by a doctor doesn’t make it okay for you to abuse them.  But of course you love to tell me that I’ll never understand the physical pain you’re in blah blah BLAH.  The kids and I don’t believe you’re just “tired” as you say, rather than stoned and nodding; you’re not fooling anyone.  

Love,

Me

p.s.  I was so glad when you spilled water all over yourself in bed last night because you finally gave up, turned off the TV and the light, and went to sleep.  Ugh.  I WANT MY SOBER HUSBAND BACK, GOD DAMN IT!  I miss you so much, and I don’t like this stranger you’ve become.

Even

March 18, 2009

Hi love,

The initial stoned-and-falling-asleep-constantly stage is waning, thank God, because I cannot stand you when you’re like that.  You have no boundaries, you’re all sweaty and stoned and gross, and you are all over me and the kids with affection none of us wants because you are, quite frankly, more like a stranger than a father or a lover when you’re abusing your meds.  I know you’re in pain, but I also know you stuff your face full of far more pills than you actually need so you can get that “not a care in the world” feeling you’ve described to me before.  While you’re busy having no cares, I’m busy having my plate chock full of the cares you’re tossing by the wayside.  It’s really tiring.

Now you’re not really high anymore, so you’re drinking with your meds.  Not a lot, but drinking all the same.  Joy.  Friends invited us to go out last night for St. Patrick’s Day and I declined, telling them quite bluntly that I was not in the mood to be embarrassed by your behavior as you were abusing your pain medication and drinking on top of it would be a public disaster.  That’s the first time I’ve done that and been honest about it.  There’s going to be a lot more honesty and a lot less hiding and covering up.  I should have just gone by myself.  Next time I will.

Tonight you got into it with my daughter.  She was being disrespectful, to be sure, and that’s not acceptable under any circumstances.  I talked to her about it.  There’s a part of me, though, that just wants to tell you to suck it up.  After the hell that I went through raising your kid and the way he treated me, this is nothing and you’re just going to have to deal with it.  She’s normal.  She’s a jerk, but she’s normal.  And don’t ever call her a bitch again.  I don’t care if it was just to me.  That’s MY CHILD.  If you don’t like her, you don’t have to deal with her.  I can handle it.

I’m feeling really hateful and negative right now.  I should stop writing.

Love,

Me

Oh YAY, pills again.

March 17, 2009

Hi love,

You have a brand spanking new pain meds prescription – should be enough to last you a month, yet will last you just over a week – a week during which I get to watch you fall asleep at the dinner table, fall asleep smoking, fall asleep standing up, all the while insisting that you are just tired not stoned and getting mad at me when I just look at you like you’re an idiot because you are behaving like one.  For someone who “needs” so much medication, you seemed just fine without it for a month, albeit you drank away your pain instead.  I am really tired of you being an addict.  I am tired of babysitting you.  I am tired of dealing with your burned clothes, spilled food, the tightrope you walk with your job, just everything.  I have started to just let you fall asleep wherever you are and have instructed the kids to do the same.  I have explained to them that you’re an addict and behaving irresponsibly and that you must suffer the consequences of your behavior. 

The kids and I left the house for an hour tonight and on our way down the street, we made bets about what condition you’d be in when we returned.  I bet you’d have dropped a glass, cut yourself, and then fallen asleep on the floor with the glass all around you.  One kid bet you’d fall asleep in your chair, and the other kid bet you’d fall asleep in your chair with your cigarette.  We all agreed that we’re glad you smoke outside so you won’t burn down the house.  I find that conversation funny and sick.  These are kids who used to look up to you and now you’re just a clown to them. 

I am looking at you through the window.  You have dropped your cigarette and you have fallen asleep with your head on your laptop keyboard.  I’m leaving you there tonight.

Love,

Me