It's been a year to the day, since I found out the extent of your habit, your secret, your full blown addiction.  I was wondering what had me so off kilter.  Was it Bob's horribly abrupt, self inflicted, evacuation of Earth?  Were my meds off? Maybe my hormones?  No, it's been a year of trauma and drama.  It's strange how our brains store things and reminds us of dangers previously perceived.  Like a big old yellow sign only holding the vague message, "CAUTION: WORK AHEAD".  You never know if you're going need a good slam on the brakes or to reroute your entire commute. So, you remain ever vigilant.  And still, you are not here with me entirely, looking back on the past year, and shaking your head in disbelief at the absolute madness of it all.  You're out in the other room, going through withdrawal for what seems to be the hundredth time in the last year.  Unable to be with me, again.

I read two articles tonight, one about the end of marriages, another about the grief stages as applied to relationships.  My conclusion is this: if we don't do something drastic our marriage has less than two years left and I'm already in the middle of grieving it's death.  Where are you, really?  Do you not see that the end is near?  When I leave will you be devastated by the coldness and suddenness of my departure? Or do you have in you what I have always seen? Will you finally take up your sword and go to battle? Or will you blindly bump along until I collapse under what has become the dead weight of our once coveted love and devotion? My soul is exhausted.  It aches for respite from the rigors of living with and loving an addict.  Was this what it was like for you when I was where you are? Help me to get through one more day with you, because I cannot even begin to imagine a day without you. All I know is that these days are numbered and that change is coming fast for us.


I'm in the closet.

When the summer after my 19th birthday finally rolled around and I found myself still struggling to grow up and finish one last credit to graduate high school, I described the feeling of being locked in a closet to a friend.  She asked me to be very specific and to tell her more about how I felt.  I went on to describe it like this: "It's like everything I want and need is right on the other side of a locked door, but there's a really big keyhole that if I put my eye up to it I can see everything on the other side.  Everything that I keep myself from attaining. There's light, laughter, love maturity, everything that would ease my suffering is on the other side of this locked door. Inside the closet, I have nothing but a horrible feeling of being trapped and knowledge of everything being so very close, if I could just get to it.  I just need someone to hand me the key to the door." 

Why am I writing about stuff that happened half of my life ago?  Because it is where I find myself again today.  Struggling to find the key to the same door.  I did easily get out of my "closet of the mind".  It just took some creative meditation and a very vibrant visualization of me of opening the door and walking out of that closet.  Shortly after, I got my high school diploma, found a religion that works for me, and I even grew up in some very important ways. I needed to write about it to clarify the steps that I took before so that I can take them again and get out of this closet and get back to daily living, not daily existing.  I have so much to live and change for that this feeling is just an indication of all the good stuff just waiting for me,  but I have to be the source of the solution. It sounds a little weird but if you have been where I am, you know that I'm right.  And big change is almost here. 


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What is the problem?   What do I lack that you so desperately need? Why do you have to escape from everything?  You use work to escape from home and me.  You use home as an escape from work.  Do you know how to be present at all? I just don't get it. I must be so closed minded to whatever you are looking for that I can't seem to be any of what you want or need. Am I just not worth the effort?  Cause I can go.  I can give up, if that is what you want.  But I cannot do this over and over and over and over and over again for the rest of my life.


Sorry, Dear. I'll try harder.

  Sometimes I swear you do stuff on purpose just to make me feel like shit.  I am so tired of being made out to look like a bitch so that you can feel better about being an asshole and justify your shitty behavior.  "I have to watch porn. Have you seen what a frigid bitch I'm married to?" "I have to use meth. Have you seen what a lazy bitch I married?"  No, you have never said it out loud.  But, all of your actions and choices speak volumes.  You are "so committed" to the horribly broken bitch you married that everyone else has such pity on you that you can do nothing wrong.  Cause, well, what do you expect from a man who has to deal with "HER" all the time.  I get it.  You don't have anything left for me anymore.  But here's the thing, I deserve better and I know my worth without you.  Your the only one in this marriage that is unaware of what is really going on.  These are the last days of our dying love.  It is so sad.  just so fucking sad.


I am nothing but passionate about this man.

I feel the need to express positive things about the man I am so passionate about, today.  If, as I'm sure will be the case, I have need to be reminded of why I choose to continue to battle the disease of addiction in myself and my husband.  Why do I choose to battle with no weapons and no armor?

He is a good man who makes horrible decisions at all the wrong times.
If I give up on him before the miracle of recovery happens, who will be there as witness?
I don't owe him a damn thing!
I owe it to myself to be able to say that I did everything I could, within my power, before I leave him to his own devices.
He has never, ever made the decision to give up on me.  (but again, I owe him nothing)
I can NOT work a program of recovery FOR him.  I can only show him how I  work for my own recovery.
There are a great many things that I feel passionate about, but none of them are as great as him.
His moments of clarity and connection are beautiful, powerful, and all that I have ever wanted to share with him.   They are the stuff my dreams are made of.

Today, I have strength and love, hope and faith in the universe. But there will be days ahead that I will need to read this again and again and remember the feeling behind this decision that I get to make every day.


I want...

I want you to feel my pain.
to be the best reason for you to wake-up in the morning
to be a perfect reason to not stick another needle in your arm.
to see me and look upon me with love in your eyes again.
to be grateful for the gifts of my love and suffering, and recovery.
I want to be perfectly honest with you and tell you how much you are killing me and how much I cannot let you go into the dark night alone without me by your side to fend off the nightmares that haunt your precious mind that I love so dearly.
I would have you hold me again and again and again if you could just help me with this pain that is so heavy and palpable but slips through my fingers with every grasp.
I can not do this alone without you but I keep waking up to you not here in spirit leaving me with your body to do it anyway.
I am so lost in the sea of emotions that I so newly born to.

I had another nightmare.

Do you know what I dream of anymore? This, exactly this horror of heartbreak that you are okay with living out right in front of my eyes.  The chains I see around you, pulling tighter and further away from me.  I have nightmares of you using and then I wake up and you are one step further away from me, closer to death. I cannot stop you or say the right words to help you stop yourself. I fell asleep crying. I cried in my sleep.  I am awake, crying.  The pain of watching your dance, such a beautifully designed tragedy,  unfolding before my eyes is killing what is left of my heart.  You asked me if I was okay this morning.  I could barely whisper, "I am in pain." I just want to make it all stop.  Stop the world's endless spinning and yours.  I have to go... and sooner than you can be ready for.


This is going to hurt.

I am hurting again.  He has chosen to use again.  I try to sleep with all of my might but the pain comes with stillness. I have been busy all day to keep from my wicked mind that torments me with could've, should've, would've and why aren't you's. I am losing the battle to win the war but it feels like utter defeat.  I hear the words that say his decision is not a reflection of me or him but only of the disease.  I have no power.  The only thing that holds sway in his mind are the chemicals that he thinks he needs to be okay.  I dislike telling you but I have given him a proposal, go back to treatment or I leave.  I will not accept a life of the hell you create for yourself.  I can't.  Even now, the medicine dulls the panic but I'm not okay.  I am solid in my truth though.  There will be no more tears, no yelling or fighting, no begging or pleading, I have nothing left to offer but quiet resolve.  And it is then,  when I am so powerless that I am so powerful.


I am not doing well

So, I'm not doing what I am supposed to do.  I have forgotten about refilling my antidepressants yet again.  I have missed all of the doses I was supposed to take since Sunday night.  I am finally starting to feel the effects of these missed meds.  This is what happens when I think everything is getting better.  I self sabotage and pick up the same old bat and beat me up again.  I think I'm my own worst abuser.  Never have I ever,  let someone else treat me like I treat myself.  Never have I ever,  let someone else say the things that I say to me.  Never have I ever,  let anyone or anything defeat me like I defeat myself.  I'm tired of the inner struggle with me and my own will to die.   Where is my will to live? Why does it not show itself until I have given up on me for the hundredth time? I'm not done fighting, but I am just so tired of it.


Come and get me

I am in a bad place.  It's called in my fucking head. I am so tired of being the one that comes to you.   It's your turn.  Come on over.  Ask for my attention.  All I do is put myself out there for you and I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm met with resistance and a smack to the face. Well, fuck you.  Hope your having fun in recovery.