How It Breaks

I’ve been pretty quiet about the whole divorce situation on here, and part of it is because there is so much in my head that it’s hard to put it down onto paper. And it’s still not easy to talk about any of it. I still get choked up when I try.

I can’t speak as to his experience with alcoholism. All I can do is speak about mine.

It starts with the things that got broken.

My trust in myself-
How could I not know he was drinking? How did I miss it? Am I purposefully ignoring a problem? Am I enabling him? What more can I do that I’m not doing? Is this my fault? How can I be so stupid?

My trust in him-
We’ve had some set backs. A few relapses. But he’s getting better. He won’t drink again – well, he might drink again. But he won’t lie about it this time. He wants to drive Voldemort to school tomorrow, but I’m scared. He says he went to AA. He cancelled couples’ counseling. I wonder if he’s actually sick or if he’s been drinking.

My sleep pattern-
Stronger anti-anxiety meds, a recommendation from my doctor for melatonin, a Fitbit to track my hours of good sleep. A new pillow. Yoga. Meditation.

My birthday, January 2014-
The first relapse. He doesn’t remember me coming home to find an almost empty large bottle of rum, or asking him how much he drank, or that I told him I was going to go pick up the kid and stay in a hotel. I called in to work for the next two days because I had a panic attack. I called my sister from a parking lot and screamed, so angry and so hurt.

Plans for a baby-
A cancelled adoption. The agency was very nice when they explained. I cried for a long time. I’m glad now, because I’m not sure how I would’ve gotten through this with a baby/little kid in the mix.

Christmas, 2015-
We were on the Santa Clause train. He had been shaky all day. He said he was sick. I looked up in time to see him fall over in slow motion onto our nephew and son. It’s all a bit blurry. I remember Natalie grabbing the boys out of the way, and the Grinch asking if he was ok. I remember that I looked at my watch to time it as he seized, holding my father’s handkerchief to his face as blood ran from where he’d bitten his tongue. I know what detox looks like now.

My birthday, January 2015-
Another relapse. More lies.

Valentine’s Day, February 2015-
And again.

Voldemort’s birthday, April 2015-
He was drinking on our kid’s birthday. I could have handled that, probably. But then he lied. And lied. And lied.

His job.

Our home.

Our life.

My heart.