sorcharuane

The night J told me he'd relapsed I had a nightmare. I woke terrified and trying to scream for help. In the dream I had met my father outside the bank in town and he was trying to hit me round the head for still being involved with J. That would be dad's way alright. Knock sense into me. I was trying to tell him to stop but all I could get out was a strangled squeak. Then I was sitting in the church with my daughter and it was Gerry's second anniversary. In real life Gerry died just over a year ago from this ruthless disease that slowly strips away everything. Partners, children, homes, money, strength, intelligence, self-control, dignity, health and finally....life. It was at Gerry's funeral that I first spoke to J. How did I miss that particular omen?

Back to the dream. I am sitting in the centre aisle with Robyn and behind us are a couple of boys, older teens, dark and broody, making a skit of something. I turn around and shush them. Opposite us are Gerry's family, his mother and two sisters, people I have known since I was a kid. His sister Mary was my best friend while I was growing up. I went out with Gerry for a whille too back then. My attraction to alcoholic men stretches back as far as I can remember. After the service Mary comes over to chat to me and Robyn disappears for a few minutes. When she comes back she is crying.

I ask what's up. She says one of the boys hurt her. I ask what happened. She says she went into the toilet with him. I ask why. He said he just wanted to talk to her. I say but he didn't? She says no and starts to cry even harder and I know I am suddenly in the middle of my worst fear. I say did he make you have sex with him? She sobs it hurt and I'm bleeding. I gather her up into my arms like a baby even though she's 12 now and bigger than me and run out of the church. I am thinking first doctor, then police. As I moved through the deserted car park two figures came towards us. Dressed in Bob the builder costumes, they look comical and harmless enough but as they get closer I realise they are not, one of them is the boy who assaulted Robyn. He grabs us and start trying to wrap something, like a long belt around us, to trap, immobilise us. I remember my voice, start trying to scream for help but again it comes out an ineffectual whimper. Someone rides past the carpark gate on a bike and doesn't hear a thing.

I realise I will have to try harder, to muster a loud cry for help for myself, for Robyn, from the depths of my being and I wake with a terrible start, trying. I know the dream is about J somehow. About what the relationship is doing to my psyche though I'm not quite sure how the pieces fall into place. One thing is sure though, it's not pleasant. He was sober one week before the relapse. It was the best week we had for so long. It was what I'd held out for, what I knew he could be. We'd had coherent conversations, he brought me three pink roses because i had a toothache, he helped me move furniture, fixed my heating system. I made him sandwiches, picked him up from work because it was raining, took him to a meeting. And the sex, well the sex had always worked anyway until the last dreadful batter which lasted two solid months and I hadn't been able to see him as a lover at all.

J on a litre and a half of vodka a day is not a pretty sight. Shaking, barely able to stand, falling over, splitting his head, slurring, not able to string a sentence, same old stories over and over, sudden rages and I seem to be the scapegoat for all his frustration, all his self loathing. His whole world narrowed to the glass on the table in front of him. All that matters. Crying like a baby, telling me inside he's screaming for help but the screaming for the next drink is stronger, propelling him over to the off licence on the next leg of this deadly suicide mission. It reaches a certain point where I wonder if he kind of enjoys torturing me. Its going to kill me you know, will you miss me? Will you visit my grave? Pray for me? And I sit there, unable to move myself, even though a voice in my head is saying why are you listening to this ****? Walk away! To walk away, to abandon him when he seems so helpless goes against every caring grain in my nature.

During that bender there was a brief stay in rehab, two attempted overdoses and a rope made into a noose, The dark depths his mind descended into don't bear thinking about and a lot of the time I was down there with him. Trying to talk sense into him. To remind him he is loved, needed. Because what will I do without him? Who will I drink tea and shoot the breeze with? Who will listen to me, love me? Who will make love to me like he does? Who will be my companion on this often lonely road? Those are the questions that have taken the legs from under me anytime I've tried to leave. And I have tried so many times. Until he calls and begs me for help. Tells me he can't do it without me. Even though a few days before it might have been me driving him to drink. He has a disease that's always looking for an inroad, a reason, an excuse.

But this time. Well. When I first met J He'd drink for maybe a couple of weeks and then stop for a couple of weeks. But progression dictates that thirst increases while tolerance goes down and the binges get longer while the spaces between shrink. I cannot spend another two months on the edge of my seat waiting for a phonecall, constantly hooked into what state he is in and whether he will get through this one or not. LONELINESS. The loneliness of being in a relationship with someone who is not present, not themselves 90% of the time. I'm not an idiot, I don't expect anyone to fulfill all my needs for intimacy. Heck, I probably have a limited capacity for closeness myself. Fourteen years into my own recovery, I' only a fledgling really. But the loneliness when your mate is out to lunch on planet vodka has a particularly desperate feel.

If only I hadn't. If only he could. Maybe today. He's got to be near his rock bottom. Should I wait? Should I leave? Can I even stay away? The pain, the emptiness, the boredom that opens up after a week away from him seems too hard to muddle through. The dream trips me up though. Stops me in my tracks. Shocks me into something. J sober is a force to be reckoned with. If I could bottle that charm, the charisma. the curious mixture of strong capable man and little boy lost, every man would want some, every woman would fall for it. But the price I am paying for a taste of it now and again is too high. It hurts and I'm bleeding. The little girl in me who's taken in by the right words, the false promises, the seduction of being wanted, needed is crying. The protective male in my unconscious, however misguided his method, is forcing me into awareness, No more. Enough is enough. Disguises. What might appear funny and innocent is not. It's a snare full of danger and I can't find my own voice. My power. But I'm trying. It's time. To make one more last ditch all out attempt to mend my own life, Now. Today. One day at a time.

maia1234

S- You need to take care of you. We have not walked in your shoes, so no one should be telling you what to do. You need to hit meetings, keep reading SR and work on your own recovery. It hurts, as all of us love our addicts, but they are the only ones that can get themselves sober. Really, what we want really doesn't matter to the Addict.

If you leave and he gets sober- good for you
If you leave and he doesn't get sober- good for you

Educate yourself about addiction and take your time making your decision. Good luck and keep reading!!

SeriousKarma

Such a beautiful post. Thank you Sorcharuane.

You do have power. So much. It's peppered all through your writing, and your dream. You just need to unleash that protective energy on the one person it can really help. Yourself.

Like you say, just move it forward One day at a Time.

Also:

Sadly, I think that magic elixir has already found its way into bottles worldwide, and in there lies the problem.

Again, Thank you for your beautiful powerful words.