Bitchy Whine and Money Stuff

Em has agreed with me in principle to at least stop spending money directly from the bank card: we have to review our bills together and if there is anything left then we will pull that as cash for spending.  If there is no money, there is no spending.

Got my first unemployment check two days ago.  Em grabbed the bank card and headed straight out to the liquor store.

This has been a particularly a difficult week.  Actually, how this is different from prior recent weeks I couldn’t really say.

Anyway…I got fed up and exhausted and felt like it was entirely unfair that I’m doing all the abstinence stuff while he – a full fledged alcoholic – is running through massive quantities of alcohol every day.  So I’ve been drinking off of his cider vodka in the evenings most of this week (one glass a night – about one can of cider combined with a nip shot of vodka), and he bought me a bottle of wine on Thursday night.

I drank one glass (5 oz) and he poured me a second, but couldn’t drink it; I asked him if it was okay for me to leave the poured glass on his workbench, since his shop is cool enough to preserve the wine.  Left half a bottle and a heavy poured glass of red wine (8 oz) on his work bench.

Got home from a stressful job interview on Friday and wanted some of my wine: found about 3oz remaining in my glass and the bottle was empty.

I was feeling pretty sick – felt like the start of a flu – so he ran out to buy rum ($25) to make me a toddy.  I had two measured shots of rum from the liter bottle; by the next morning, almost all the rum was gone from the bottle. Oh, and besides my wine, the prior day he had polished off a bottle ($37) of Jack Daniels.  Plus a six pack every day ($9 x 7 = $63) and 6 vodka nips to go with that ($1.50ea x 6 = 9/day x 7 days = $63).

Meanwhile, we’ve received cancellation notices on our home owner’s insurance and car insurance, and I have started to get calls from creditors…god help me, I’ve allowed it to come to this.

He said something honest, though, last night.  We have a friend, J, whom we helped through a difficult period with alcoholism.  He said: “Well, now I understand what J was going through.  It’s not easy. But I have to do this for you. I have to do this for our family.

“Actually, the truth is, I have to do this for me.  I don’t like myself this way.”

Amen, Em.

Love

Found this bit of lovely this morning on Pinterest. Emailed it to Em under the subject line “Love You”.

ME: Sorry for the times I don’t do this. I promise I will keep trying if you will.

EM: There is nothing I would rather do than keep trying the rest of my life with you.

For the record.

Good News On the Job Front

On the plus side, Em has continued to be very productive.  I say this not to whitewash the situation, but because I believe that making the good things as good as possible – without supporting his drinking – is the best way to encourage his full recovery.  To beat an enemy like alcoholism, a person has to have something worth fighting for; a person who feels completely rejected may just throw in the towel.

So…now that Em has his resume out there, he’s getting some very serious nibbles.  A hiring firm gave a strong thumbs up upon receiving his resume today from a recruiter, and on looking at the job description I have to say it’s a great fit.  I’d want to interview him if I were them.

I have interviews for two different jobs this week as well, so it truly looks as though between the two of us we should be back on a positive cash flow again very soon.

And Em has been very affectionate – though I am concerned that he could not be affectionate while he was completely sober.  Indeed, I feel that if I could have reached him, perhaps we’d be in a different place now.  Anyway, he has been very affectionate, and he is getting comfortable with my position that for now we must simply agree to disagree about his drinking. It is, after all, only one piece of the puzzle, and the rest of the picture seems to be falling nicely into place at last.  Hopefully this last piece will fit soon as well.

Apples of Gold

Em says he hadn’t been drinking before the concert after all. All I can think is, “Really, not one single drink? Guess what I saw was apple juice…”  Goodness knows he’s been drinking every day except that, if it’s true.

He’s keeping his drinks in paper shopping bags by his desk now, and as of this morning I counted parts of 4 six pack plus an 8 pack of vodka nips in various states of consumption – at least two empties, and parts of two remaining.  He’s drinking in the morning again, and sleeping more during the day.  He’s trying to persuade me that he just needs to stay busy & his drinking will go back to “normal”.  Of course, 10 days ago that meant “date night once a week”, and now it means, “no more than 2 drinks on a weeknight, and 3 on Friday or Saturday…maybe even a six pack.”

Em keeps insisting that I said I was going to leave him; I keep pointing out that I told him I have two choices – either come to terms with things as they are, or leave him – and that I have no desire to leave him, so stop it.  But I also told him he needs to stop trying to get me to agree with his plan for “normalizing” his drinking: I believe he is physically alcohol dependent, and that until he stops drinking he remains at risk of going back to where he was.  We’ve been going around about this, but I cannot go back on this position.  I know what I’m seeing.

I had to think about it long and hard and what I concluded is that he may need to hit a lower bottom than he already has before he’s ready to accept the need for recovery. If he proves me wrong, great, but in the meantime I will bide my time. Meanwhile, I wrote him a letter that I’m keeping in reserve until the proper moment.

Em, my love.

I have lain awake these many hours now thinking of what you said, and of what I said as well. I do NOT want to leave you.  It would tear a hole in my heart too big to ever fix or fill. I want us to be together enjoying the best life has to offer, always.  I want to be with you.

But when you tell me you do not have a problem, you are only fooling yourself.  I am here for you.  I love you  and I support you, but I alone am not enough. You are an alcoholic, and you need to seek professional help.  I will always and forever love you and offer every help I can.

With all my heart,

(ME)

I don’t think he’s ready to receive this just yet, so I’ll tuck it away for now.  “Like apples of gold in silver carvings is a word spoken at the right time.” (Proverbs 25:11, NWT)

“Better” but Not Okay

I think it stemmed from my decision yesterday morning to go back on birth control.  It’s a symbolic gesture at my age, but it’s also frightening: it is my acceptance of the fact that Em’s idea of “not drinking” is not not drinking at all; it is my admission that I don’t trust our relationship enough to make a brand new 18 year commitment.  Not with his youngest about to turn 18 and graduate high school…

It didn’t help that I smelled alcohol on his breath by 1 p.m. yesterday, either. I had an ambivalent (and therefore disappointing) job interview yesterday morning, and struggled to keep my eyes open most of the way home; when I collapsed in bed, Em joined me for a snuggle.

ME: Do I smell alcohol on your breath?

EM: Yes, yes you do.

ME: You’re breaking your own rules again.  That’s what bothers me the most.

EM: Yes I am breaking my own rules. I know.

This morning, he was up bright and early.  No alcohol, no shakes. Very productive.  I suppose that’s good.

He made me breakfast and decided to tackle the motor vehicle registry today on his way back from an interview with a recruiter in town.  The epitome of productivity.  Good for him.

I wish it made me feel better.  I’ve been sick to my stomach for the last two days, and vacillating between tears and rage. I spent most of yesterday fighting back bouts of sobbing (Mom, are you alright? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?). I’ve spent most of this morning suppressing vicious thoughts.  (I wonder how he’d like a bottle of vodka wrapped in a crazy daisy baby blanket for Christmas this year?)

EM:    “Are you alright?”

ME:    “No, I’m not alright.  It’s going to be a long time before I’m alright, and my choices right now are to work through these feelings or to leave you.

“You say that you are fine, that you’ve got your drinking under control again now.  And I hope to God you’re right about that.  But it’s going to be a long time before I am comfortable with the choice you are making, before I stop being afraid we’re going to find ourselves right back where we were before.  I don’t know what you get from that damned bottle, but whatever it is, in my opinion it’s not worth the risk. You’ve already made your position perfectly clear, but it’s going to take a while before I’m okay with it.”

I choked down the lovely breakfast he made me because I had to; I stormed about the kitchen while he got ready to go on his interview, and I got angry at every stupid little thing in my way.

I went up stairs to write this post and cursed under my breath when I heard him on the stairs.

I sewed his button back on his jacket, brushed lint from the shoulders of his suit.  I told him to pull the jacket further forward over his shoulders and collar, so the front would hang properly.

I didn’t even kiss him on his way out the door.

I smother my guilt and the rage rises within me again.

Oh, The Unfairness of It All

When I do bring up the drinking, Em often comes back with a complaint of his own: “Oh, so let’s not look at all the good things I’m accomplishing.”  And I tend to reply that he’s pushing me away and missing the ways I try to recognize and thank him for the good things he is doing.

The point of this blog is to give me a place to vent and release my pain and frustration over the bad things, but there are good things as well, of course.

So…I must make sure my catalogue is more balanced moving forward.

Today he is going our for coffee and to pick up a few groceries with our neighbor, Mr. P.  Mr. P is a jovial, round, generous and kind hearted man, and Em and the boys are up at his house at least twice a week to help him split kindling or stack firewood closer to the house; he’s even told us we can have as much firewood as we need in exchange for the help that Em and the boys are giving him.  Mrs. P is a slim, elegant, and kind woman with dark gray braided hair who loves to spoil us all: she always has hot chocolate and something fresh from the oven for our boys when they have been up to help.  Yesterday, she showed off her Christmas decorations to us and stuffed us full of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls and the like.

Em built that relationship.  He has diligently introduced himself to our neighbors all around, in fact; and the P’s have basically adopted us.  They help heal our family in many ways, especially since my own parents are still keeping their distance, by and large.  We can come to them…but they cannot come to us.

And most days Em brings me coffee at least once, if not twice.  Since we’re still trying to figure out how to get good coffee, this usually entails a trip to the local convenience store; and he makes my coffee exactly the way I like it.  He even notices if I change the recipe.

For the Record

It’s so easy to forget how bad the bad times can be.  It’s important to record them so I do not forget.  This is not verbatim, but the gist of our conversation last night went like this:

ME: “I can’t believe you used our intimacy issues as a pretext to start drinking again.”

EM: “Fuck you. You’re the one who was saying things.”

ME: “I’m sorry. I was afraid, because last time you quit drinking it was part of what led you back to the bottle. I didn’t mean for you to start drinking again – that’s no solution. I was trying to find a way through the problem, and instead I led you straight back into it.”

EM: “Well from now on, I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want.”

ME: “Well then I guess this relationship is over.”

EM: “I can’t believe you just said that!”

ME: “You’re the one who said, it.  If you’re going to do whatever the fuck you want, then that’s not being part of a relationship. But I’m still right here, trying to find a solution to this problem.”

EM: “There IS no problem.”

ME: “What do you mean?”

EM: “There IS no problem.  You need to stop freaking out.  There IS no problem because I’m busy now.  I don’t have time to drink like that any more. So there is no problem.  You need to calm the fuck down.”

Went upstairs to read and meditate and pray.  Found this in “A Course In Miracles” and am using it as a mantra:

I am here to be truly helpful.

I am here to represent Him Who sent me.

I do not have to worry about what to say or do, because He Who sent me will direct me.

I am content to be wherever He wishes, knowing He goes there with me.

I will be healed as I let him teach me to heal.

If the Atonement can make me whole again, fit for this service, then please let this miracle be given through me, that my family may be healed.

The Slippery Slope

Walking home from the local convenience store.

“Just a couple of nips of vodka,” he announces as we pass the corner package store.  “No more big bottles for me – only small, measured doses.”

I look down toward the ground, refuse to meet his eye.  I stay on my path straight home.

“What, aren’t you coming with me?”

“No.  I’ll wait for you over there.” I indicate the spot toward which I had been walking, on the sidewalk behind the store.

Em turns back and walks with me instead.

“Em, I’m not trying to tell you what to do.  This is your road to walk.”

“I know that, honey.”

Together we walk home.

He buys the vodka and more cider later, on his own.

Just One Drink More…

One beer left from Saturday’s six pack.  3 – 2 – 1 and if that’s it until next weekend, under normal circumstances that would be fine.

“Let’s just plan on date night one night a week.”

Date night alcohol dependence not fine. Breaking his own drinking limit rules not fine.

Also, he is getting melodramatic & nostalgic & omniscient again now.

I wish I had nothing to worry about.  But I worry that I do.

9 Days

3 ciders tonight.  “Date Night” he calls it. I can help him make this work he says.

He’ll forgive me, I say, if I mistrust his plan.