Healing After Loving and Leaving an Alcoholic: Resentful, Ruthful, and Raw.

It's s a popular exercise in therapy that when we feel sad or angry at another person, writing a letter you'll never send can be helpful. So I suppose this is my version. I'm going to write it as a story to convince myself that the pain is behind me - but it isn't. It happened today, and I am raw, resentful, and Someday this won't be my life—just a story.

Here I was. Heartbroken. Again. I wrote about my pain in hopes that it would help me heal, but I doubted it. If you've read any of my previous posts, you know that I was in a relationship with someone I considered my best friend. I failed to mention that he was an alcoholic with serious anger issues, and I have been living in fear of him for the past four years. 

Of course, there were moments of happiness, but I knew that under his silly grin, he hid evil intentions. He was capable of being heartless, and that isn't something you want to find out about the one you love. I had finally come to the heart-wrenching conclusion that though I loved him, that same love was going to kill me, and it was time to end it. After he publicly humiliated me while being heavily lubricated, I realized I wasn't safe. 

We were at our neighborhood bar and my place of work, drinking with friends. I began a long-winded monologue about John Mayer when he became impatient and asked me to give him our credit card. It was go-go juice time, and nothing was going to get in his way. I was using a large beach bag, so finding a credit card was quite a challenge; This enraged him as he began to verbally abuse me, slurring his words and stumbling out of the bar, insulting me with every step he took. What had I done to deserve this? 

I decided I wouldn't and couldn't go home to him. It was the last straw. I chose myself, and it was the most challenging choice I have ever had to make. If we're not careful, we risk accidentally allowing ourselves to be mistreated for years. I was in my eighth year. I was exhausted, excoriated, and exposed. 

For the last four years, I had woken up knowing that I would be the victim of some shape or form of abuse by the end of the day, and yet, I remained in denial of the relation-shit in which I allowed myself to participate. I faulted him for choosing liquor over me day after day, and I hated myself for allowing it to happen for so long. No matter how much I educated myself about addiction, I still took it personally -how could I not? He knew that drinking turned him into a sloppy, verbally abusive baboon, and yet he continued to consume copious amounts of what he calls "go-go" juice for the entire duration of every single one of his days. Mornings were spent either watching him vomit or watching him drink. The seizures he suffered brought on by dehydration weren't deterrent enough. Go-go juice ran his life and eventually mine.

I prayed for the strength never to return. I wanted to cry, but some part of me could not make sense of it. I kept asking why I do put myself through this? Was I a masochist with some fetish for the addicted and afflicted? After all, he was my second alcoholic in eight years, and you know what they say about " fooling me twice," and man, was it a shame!

I tried to sit still, but all I could think about is how much more he would drink and how he would drink himself to death if I weren't there to stop him. When had my relationship become a job? Loving an alcoholic can affect a person in strange ways. I have so many questions about what had just happened to me. I planned on scheduling some therapy, but for now, there was the internet. I found a list of behaviors with which we can enable an alcoholic.

• Making excuses or covering for their actions to avoid repercussions.

• Not addressing the issue of substance abuse and behaviors.

• Sacrificing personal freedoms which may encourage your partner to continue drinking.

• Being dishonest to other family members and friends about how things are going with you and them.

• Engaging in behaviors that encourage alcoholism primarily to avoid confrontation with the alcohol user.

• Believing your methods and ideas of helping them is helping them.

I was guilty of every single one. The last one made me cringe. I had become an expert in denial and so used to disappointment that it was all I knew. I believed my own delusion. We had been doomed from the start. I was beginning to act as if all the abuse I endured daily was normal. I wasn't his fiance, I was his mommy and his enabler, and it turns out I was hurting both of us.

Enough venting for today. Time to sleep. Time for a fresh start.