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~ Life With An Alcoholic Husband

QuietRagingWaters

Tag Archives: wife of an alcoholic

WHY I AM FAILING AT BLOGGING

01 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

alcoholic father, alcoholic husband, alcoholic marriage, divorce, wife of an alcoholic

I’ve been married to my alcoholic husband for over 20 years.

I’m leaving him.

I’m starting a new blog.

I’m contributing on my friend’s blog.

I’m buying my own house.

Etc., etc., etc.

And so on and so forth.

Blah blah blah blah blah.

“Tomorrow morning,”(as in about four hours from now since it’s nearly 3 o’clock in the morning) I am going to….

Start getting up early.

Establish a morning routine.

Eat right.

Manage my anger.

Start moving forward with my life.

Etc., etc., etc.

And so on and so forth.

Blah blah blah blah blah.

Trying to free yourself from the shackles of an alcoholic marriage is like being given a big, beautiful pair of wings…

With you feet tethered to the ground.

You flap and you flap and you flap.

But you go no where.

I started this blog (and even a second blog, my wasn’t I ambitious) because I thought I could offer some help or support or a bit of solace in the dark lonely night to other women, younger women, “newer” (as in newer to the alcoholic marriage) woman than myself. But how do I help them when I can’t even help myself?

What can I say to these women?

After 20 years you get “used” to it. (Except you don’t.)

After 20 years, you just start living your own life. (But you don’t.)

After 20 years, you don’t even notice his drinking. (Except you do.)

How am I suppose to advise other women on saving their souls?

When I can’t even save my own?

Who Really Threw Away The 40 Years?

19 Saturday Oct 2019

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

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Tags

alcoholic husband, alcoholic relapse, married to an alcoholic, wife of an alcoholic

There is a regular group of us who gather at Starbucks.

We weren’t friends first who decided to meet at Starbucks.

We were five or six individuals who found ourselves regularly in the same place.

Friendships like this are kind of odd because we are as sincere and honest with one another as with any friend and yet, who we are outside our morning get-togethers is relatively unknown. Oh, we know about each other’s kids or grandkids, pets or new car, each other’s political views and yet, at the same time, we know very little about each other. Our personal lives – the nitty gritty stuff – doesn’t really enter into our morning gatherings.

Except when it has to.

When something so large, so all-encompassing occurs in one of our lives that it can’t help but sneak in.

Amongst the group is a man, in his late 60’s. “Jim.”

By all accounts, Jim is a devoted father, husband and recently new grandpa.

He and his wife are financially comfortable and have good relationships with their children. They are active in the community. All and all, they seem to have carved out a nice life for themselves and their family.

Jim is also a recovered alcoholic who suffers from depression. (But then what alcoholic doesn’t have a comorbidity of depression?)

He mentioned this once to me, a rare moment when it was just him and I having coffee, though I’m sure everyone else knows as well.

That was a long time ago, he told me.

He got the appropriate help, pursued the necessary sobriety.

He seemed neither asahmed nor “proud” (in that annoying way some recoverying alcoholics can be) of his past. In fact, it seemed like he had exatly the “right” attitude about his drinking and recovery. He owned it without wearing it.

A success story in the alcoholic recovery areana.

Recently he told us that his wife of 40 years had left him!

I literally did not think I heard him correctly.

I told him somethig along the lines of,

“I thought you said your wife moved out.”

He said,

“I did. She did.”

I couldn’t believe it.

He said that was the reaction of all his friends.

He didn’t go into details but he did say that they were in counseling and he “just needed” to “keep the drinking under control.”

I know alcoholic double-speak when I hear it.

He started drinking again.

This man is so gentle, so kind, so nice that it’s hard to reconcile the limited snapshot I have of him with what I know the big picture of alcoholism is.

But I can do it.

I understand.

I dobut those who interact with my husband outside of our home would ever guess who he is behind closed doors.

I told Jim I noticed he still wears his wedding ring.

He said he is hopeful and optimistic he and his wife will get through this. He said,

“I don’t think she is going to throw away 40 years.”

Wow.

I smiled politely but inside I raged.

There was SO MUCH I wanted to say.

It’s the rare – if any! – alcoholic who REALLY! GETS! What it’s like to be married to them!

I wanted to say to him,

“You know, when you’re an alcoholic who got sober but then falls off the wagon, it’s not ‘starting over’ in your wife’s eyes.”

I wanted to say,

“All that pain of the years ago, it wasn’t erased by your sobriety. It may have been tempered but it wasn’t erased. She may have chosen to not feel it but it’s still there.”

I wanted to say,

“This is not a new chapter to her. This is another chapter of the same, old tired book that she thought she was done with.”

I wanted to say,

“She’s not throwing away 40 years. You did.”

“One drink at a time.”

Why I Finally Feel Ready To Leave

03 Monday Jul 2017

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

alcoholic father, alcoholic husband, live life, married to alcoholic, wife of an alcoholic

People in the “outside” world seem to be befuddled by the fact that the wives of alcoholics don’t simply run for the door the first time they trip over a pile of “empties.” They think drinking problem = marriage dissolution. No questions asked. No doubt. No remorse or hesitation. If only it was that simple.

Or easy.

Or painless.

No, leaving our alcoholic husbands is never simply, easy and certainly not painless though that seems to befuddle the outside world as well. Why would we grieve leaving some “no-good drunk” of a husband?

Well, for lots of reasons I won’t go into right now. What I will go into is why I finally (finally?) feel ready to leave. Ironically, it has nothing to do with his drinking, per say.

I asked my husband if he wanted to take a vacation this summer.

“We can’t afford it.”

“Who is going to watch the dog?”

“I don’t know if I can get off work.”

No sooner did he finish his last objection thent I realized,

“Oh my God! I have been listening to these excuses for 20 years!”

Everything – EVERY! THING! I have ever – EVER! – presented to my husband in terms of our lives, direction we might take, dreams we might pursue, adventures we might create has always – ALWAYS – been met with the same – SAME – reasons why we CAN’T.

First and foremost is the steadfast,

“We can’t afford it.”

I don’t care if I was suggesting planting a willow tree in the backyard or taking an overnight trip to the lake.

“We can’t affort that.”

It’s his go-to, his safety, his stand-by.

Then, depending on the situation, he has his alternates.

The dog is a popular one for any sort of trip.

“What are we going to do with the dog?”

When I suggested we be foster parents (this was LONG ago, when I would even dare suggest such an idea), I guess since money is hardly an issue there, he had to pull out the,

“We don’t have room for that.”

There is also his all encompassing,

“That will never work.”

So when he said we “can’t afford” a vacation this summer, it hardly seemded the sort of thing that would cause a deep revelation within me. But that’s the thing with “revelations;” they may seem sudden, like a volcano erupting, but really they have been a long time coming. Like a volcano after all. The energy brewing and percolating beneath the surface, “undetected” until the day…

And so last night when my husband began with his litany of “can’ts,” it hit me,

“He will never want to do anything.”

His excuses are just that. Excuses. The real “excuse” is he doesn’t want to or can’t leave his comfort zone. He wants to work, come home, drink only to wake up and do it all again the next day. Now I by no means think he’s happy or fulfilled. No, I know he is quite unhappy but he’s not going to challenge that. He’s not going to work to Be happy. He’s just going to sit in our house, worrying and yelling about about money until the day he dies.

And THAT is why I finally feel ready to leave.

Because I want to LIVE…

Until the day I die.

The Stress

16 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

alcholic husband, alcoholic father, children of alcoholic, married to an alcoholic, wife of an alcoholic

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache.

Splitting.

The stress of my (alcoholic) marriage feels too much for me to bear.

Some would say I have it “easy.”  When it comes to the alcoholic marriage anyway.

My husband is home every night.

He is (uber!) responsible with our money and the bills.  Almost too much, I dare say as he doesn’t want to spend a dime on anything! If we could live without electricity, plumbing or any other modern day “luxury,” he gladly would in the name of “saving” money.

He’s usually not hostile and aggressive.  Usually not, that is. He goes in cycles.  He’ll erupt every three or four or maybe even six weeks and then go “dormant” for a period.

The dormancy is what is killing me.

When it comes to enduring life with an alcoholic husband, dormancy may sound good.  Dormancy may sound like the preferred.  Dormancy may be what other wives of alcoholics wish for.

But dormancy is not nothing.

It’s not innocuous.

And it’s certainly not harmless.

Every morning I wake up, my husband having gone to work around 5:30 am and I see his empty side of the bed and I think, “he didn’t kiss me good bye again.”

Now he hasn’t kissed me goodbye in the morning (or hello in the evening) FOR YEARS now and yet it still stings.

Every.

Single.

Morning.

It stings.

If my kids and I were drowing in a river, after my husband got the children to safety, I don’t know if he would come back and save me!

Now I know that sounds absurd.  And I suppose he would be OUTRAGED if he knew I felt that way and maybe that is the furthest thing from the truth but the point isn’t whether it’s true or not, the point is that is how I feel about my husband and about my marriage.

That is how he makes me feel.

And I know all the “no one can make you feel” feel-good talk but we’re human beings – other people do make us FEEL certain things.

And living in an empty, souless alcoholic marriage makes me feel like my husband wouldn’t even save me if I were drowning in a river.

Well I Did It!

08 Wednesday Jun 2016

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

alcoholic father, alcoholic husband, married to an alcoholic, wife of an alcoholic

Not that anyone is here to “listen.”

This blogging stuff is tough.

Of course I am not exactly tearing up the Internet with regular posts but…

To all those out there not listening…

I have published a book!

Or at least in three to five business days it will be available on Amazon!

“The Alcoholic Husband Primer: Survival Tips For The Alcoholic’s Wife.”

I feel so empowered!

Being married to an alcohlic zaps your strength, your soul, your will, your drive.

But I think I am (finally!) on the path to renewing it all.

Still An Alcoholic

10 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

alcoholic father, alcoholic husband, wife of an alcoholic

As it turns out, I’m not much of a blogger.

Writer yes but blogger no.

This blogging thing is harder than it looks.

As well as the “unique” sort of alcoholic my husband is.

He does not supply me with “material” everyday from which to draw inspiration for my writing from.

I suppose in many ways I am “lucky.”

My husband is not physically abusive.

He does not lose jobs, get locked up or stay out all night in the bars.

He does not chase other women, tell me I am ugly or engage in much of the other insanely destructive and hurtful behavior of alcoholics.

But he’s still an alcoholic.

Which means there is a cloud, a significant cloud that he casts over our household and family.

Frankly, my children are not very nice to one another.

In fact, sadly, we’re not very nice to one another as a family.

Tonight it seemed a rare (RARE!) moment was unfolding as me and all three kids sat playing and talking around the dining room table.  But of course “one thing led to another” and eventually they were all going at each other and I eventually lose it.

All this without my husband even present!

I told them,

“We suck as a family!”

And it’s true.

To further the point, my husband came up and told me I had “lost my fucking mind.”

I told him that right there was 50% of the problem.

It comes from the top down.

And so while the bills are paid, his job is stable, he’s home every night and and there is no physical abuse, ghosts of other women or a record of DUI’s hanging around…

He’s still an alcoholic.

And that never does a family good.

Who’s Fault Is It Anyway?

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

alcoholic husband, alcoholic marriage, funtional alcoholic, married to an alcoholic, wife of an alcoholic

No one prepares us for how fast our lives fly by.

Oh, they try.  They tell us things like “enjoy it while you can” and “it goes by in the blink of an eye” but we don’t hear it…

Until we are ones saying it.

I’ll be 50 this year.

50. Years. Old.

And if it feels like my 50 years have gone by fast, it’s nothing compared to how fast it seems 17 years of marriage to an alcoholic have flown by.  One is a crop duster; the other is a jumbo jet.

17 years!

17 years?

And so now as I face the “second half” of my life and I think of the years past and all I wanted to do or be but never did or was, I can’t help but ask,

Who’s fault is it?

Is it my own fault?  Is all this soul-searching, therapist-seeing, blogging-effort, going-to-finally-write-my books effort a middle-aged thing? Did I, like so typical of the human condition, fall victim to, simply, the inertia of life?  Was I the one who let my dreams down?  Let books go unwritten? Let art go uncreated? Let passion for living fade?  Is everything about me and my life – from being 50 pounds overweight to eating crap to not writing to failing to live up to my potential – all on me?!

Or is all on him – the alcoholic who I married?  Do I get to lay everything that is wrong, compromised or flawed in my life at his (intoxicated) feet?

My first thought is to say, yes, why yes I do.  It’s hard to overstate how deeply and utterly completely the alcoholic affects your life.  It doesn’t seem like it should be that way.  It seems somehow one should be able to at least partially separate herself out from her alcoholic husband but if that’s even possible to do, it’s very, very hard to do.

Everything about the alcoholic’s condition – from his compulsive drinking to the volatile and erradic behaior to the emotionally vacancy – compromises your life.  How do you fly when a weighted cape has been laid across your shoulders?  How do you soar to the heights of your potential when the storm of alcoholism rages all around you?

You don’t.

Not really.

You survive today.

And then you survive another day.

And then another and another and another.

You just keep surviving while an idea, a feeling, a fear – a question – lurks unanswered in the back of your mind:

Am I just simply surviving my Life?

It taps, taps, taps, taps so lightly it seems until it builds to the thudering roar of a cresendo, refusing to be ignored.

What?

Am?

I!

DOING WITH MY LIFE?!

I suppose if you’re smart…

And you’re prepared to work hard (HARD!)…

And there is still a sliver of your soul left…

A cinder that smolders in that fire in your belly…

A tiny flame flickering in your darkness…

And if you can come to understand (accept!) that it doesn’t really matter who bears responsiblity for the state of your life and being…

You might just be able to fly again.

 

 

 

 

 

How Did I Get Here?

07 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by quietragingwaters in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

alcoholic husband, wife of an alcoholic

The story of how my husband and I met is so cliche as to almost be obnoxious.

Or the story line for a Nicholas Sparks’ novel.

I was almost 30 and teaching writing and art at one of those private, progressive schools where students sit on the desks and call the teachers by their first names.

He was a buttoned-up (or is it buttoned-down) professional on the fast track to (relative) fame, fortune and a corner office.

One night we were each out with our own group of friends at a restaurant that looks out over a picturesque body of water.  And has a band that starts playing at 10 pm. One of his friends knew one of my friends and so two people – the free spirit writer/artist and the suit and tie professional – who would probably have never crossed paths did, indeed, cross paths.

Once the band started playing, the two groups morphed into one and he and I found ourselves sitting next to each other.  Conversation was easy between us (of course that I found him hot-hot-hot didn’t hurt) and somewhere during the night, I started doing what women do: I began thinking about how I could orchestrate another “accidental” meeting.

The band played until 2 am and though he and I had talked all night, I still had not come up with A Plan.  As everyone was getting their coats on, downing the last drop in their drinks and saying the requisite good-byes, he looked at me and said,

Can I take you out to dinner next week end?

I was shocked.

He would later say he immediately regretted his “impulsivity,” interpreting the look on my face as one of “Oh shit. He’s asked me out. How do I get out of this?”

I would say no that is was most definitely not that but rather the look of, “Holy shit! A guy who actually knows how to be a man and ask a woman out!”

We fell in love.

He loved my creativity, spontaneity and the renewed “zest” for life he said I ignited in him.  His soul had become bland, he said.

I loved his focus, direction and the committment he brought to his life’s goals.  His soul may have been “bland” but mine was eratic, sporadic and hopelessly un-directed.

Together we would take on the world.

He would save it with his philanthropic endeavors.

I would awaken it with my writing and art.

We would live in an old farmhouse with a studio “in the back” for me.  We’d buy a summer beach cottage and watch our babies played naked in the sand.  We would fight and make up and have sex on the kitchen table, even when we were “old,” like 50.

It was all to be so perfect.

There was no mention of or plans made for the Beast of Alcoholism and yet it came busting through the front door within the first year of our marriage.  I’ve come to learn this is quite typical, the Beast willing to be hidden away in the closet or shoved under a bed,  temporarily but never forever.  Once you are living as husband or wife, the Beast is none too remiss in making itself comfortable in your home… your life… your soul.  It’s a most unhospitable house guest and one who doesn’t taken kindly to the notion of its leaving.

My husband and I have been married for nearly 20 years and he’s been drinking for every single one of them.  How is it “just now” that I am seeing a therapist?  How is it “just now” that I have looked up and realized there is little (if anything) left of who I once felt myself to be?

Where has the time gone?

Where have I gone?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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