I don't know how many times I've read a thread and thought, "Have I been with the same person as this poster?"
For 13 years, I was with ABF, whose alcoholism was always creeping under the surface, and I just didn't notice it until 3.5 years ago. He bargained with me so many times about quitting drinking. "Just don't leave me". "I can't picture a life without you and X (my son)" and so on. Thing is, I never wanted to "leave him". Fact is, and this is a hard fact to face: He left us a long time ago when he dove into that bottle of Jim Beam.
He hid bottles so much, and I never looked for them, but I always came across them in the strangest places.
He moved far away from me to get his act together in June 2011. I loved him even while he was so far away. I believed him that he was getting sober. During that time, he had no responsibilities but to get better. He did not actively work a program. He was a DIY Program Guy.
He came back to town in August 2012, begging and pleading to see us. I finally acquiesced, and of course the old feelings came back. I let him move back in November 2012. By February, I knew there was still a problem. It escalated to a grand scale by May 2013, and I asked him to leave. I was able to see his bank statements. He's been even worse than he was, lying to me all along about his year out of state.
Two weeks ago, he binged horribly at his stepmom's house. He stole her hydrocodone and took a whole bunch of it with the wine he also stole from her. He had stolen a bottle of my hydrocodone as well (I just never took any of it after a bout of serious illness and it was in the med cabinet, and I didn't even realize it was there). All of this while texting and calling so very obviously in a horribly drunk/drugged state. Finally a friend of his called his brother, who has swooped into town and is taking him back to the other state again so he can live comfortably "with no responsibilities". I wish them all well.
It's very peaceful at home. My son is thriving, finally. The weight of worry has been lifted for me, for my son.
I'm sad for "what could've been". So sad about that. I will look back, so I can learn from this, but I'm also learning to look back without staring.