For those who I have not had the privilege to meet yet, a little background information: My name is Angel and I am an addict. In May, I celebrated twenty-two years clean and sober. My wife came home from prison after twenty-four years in 2011. Upon coming home, she relapsed. Tomorrow she celebrates a year clean and sober herself. Which is probably everything you need to know to make sense of what follows...
About a year ago, Superman ran into some kryptonite. That's me by the way - Superman.
I was diagnosed with a number of nasty issues including myasthenia gravis, chronic kidney disease, spinal stenosis, fibromyalgia... there are thirteen all together. I can no longer work and social security disability hasn't been approved yet.
But what a learning experience this has been! I have always been the last line of defense against disaster. This is not to discount my HP at all, but there's my stuff and HP's stuff - and I've always upheld my part of the bargain. Times are tough and I need to work 100 hours a week? I got this. I've got the flu but the kids need to get to soccer practice? Not a problem - and while I'm out, let me pick up the dry cleaning.
I was my wife's safety net in ways that I never realized. I also realized that I had so much of my worth tied up in what I could do instead of just be.
She got a job when I became unable to work. It was part time but it was something. Not enough, but I can't help. Then a second part time job - up to thirty hours a week. Still not enough and I still can't help. She traded both of those jobs in for a single job at thirty hours a week. Then she lost her hours when her parole officer came into her work and informed the manager that she was on parole. She went from thirty hours a week to seven. I can't help.
Her boss tried to get her to quit so he wouldn't have to pay unemployment and harassed the heck out of her. I would have put up with it to feed my family, but that was only after quitting a few such jobs in my teens and twenties and figuring out pretty quickly that seven hours of harassment and a full belly is better than no harassment and no food. She's had to learn those sort of things on the fly - no room for error and no help from me.
She's done great. Me, not as well. I'm holding up and all but it is difficult. Most days I can't cook for myself. Showers are sporadic as I can manage them. She's now working two jobs - one forty hours a week and another one fifteen hours a week. She works thirteen hours a day between two jobs and I sit here and wait for her to come home and cook herself something to eat if she has the strength because I can no longer do it for her.
Dealing with feelings of uselessness, worthlessness...knowing it's all bunk, feeling it anyway. It is fascinating though...seeing what views I had about myself and figuring out who I am all over again as I get to know this new me. This new broken me - broken in all new ways...and a couple of old ones.