Ramblings on living and loving a man with a brain disease called alcoholism.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Turns out, I really AM crazy
I really feel that we need to clear the air. So I made an appointment to go back to the couples counselor next week. S hasn't had a drink since Friday (I think, could be a day longer than that, I try not to keep track--is that bad?). We're still not communicating with each other at all, really.
Good morning. Have a good day. I love you. How was your day? What do you want for dinner? Look at this cute cat! Well, I'm going to get in bed and read. G'night.
He's taking an antidepressant now. This was the recommendation of the pill doctor a week or so ago. It's too soon to tell if that's having any effect. S tells me that the pill doctor may think that he's not an alcoholic.
I'm sorry, my thought process seems to have stalled after that last statement.
S not an alcoholic? Perhaps just self-medicating his depression with alcohol? Forgive me if I seem confused. Hoes does that explain the half-empty bottle of vodka hidden among the plants in the garden this weekend? Maybe he's not an alcoholic. Maybe he just can't get out of the habit of self-medicating. Is that not the same thing? So should I go back to calling it "the drinking problem" instead of alcoholism? Should I give a fuck anymore when I honestly can't tell if he does? And didn't I go through enough hellish months and years of wondering if I was the one with the problem because I couldn't stand to be around my man when he was drinking? Couldn't stand the way he stumbled and slurred and passed out and then repeated it the next night. Thanks Pill Doctor, for throwing that doubt back in my lap again.
I want to be patient and loving and supportive, I really do. It sounds insincere, but I swear to you it's not. I want more than anything to be the support he needs. But maybe he doesn't need my support. And maybe my support doesn't matter to his "drinking problem" one way or the other.
I also want to scream and rage and throw a wicked fit. When do I get my turn for tenderness and loving concern? When does the tv go off and we start taking walks, talking, and enjoying each others company?
You know the really sick thing? I almost want S to come home drunk so he'll go right to bed and I don't have to sit here in front of the tv not talking. If he comes home drunk then I can continue to wallow in my own self-righteous misery. But of course, i don't really want him to come home drunk. I want to see his face, smiling . I want him to be in a good mood, maybe happy to see me. I want him to grab me for a big bear hug and a long kiss and the words "Please stick with me Molly".
But it's 7:45 and I'm straining to distinguish the sound of every passing vehicle. Pray for good news for me this night. I'm running out of hope.