My Journey With An Alcoholic

I have been married for nearly 40-years. I have been married to an alcoholic/drug addict for 30-years. My journey, for the time being, continues.

In all honesty, I can't be sure just how much longer I can handle this life. Has it all been bad? No, there have been a few good times; however, most of this journey has been a real nightmare for our family and me.

So, I have decided to log my life, at least this part of it, hoping that it will 1. help me vent and cope with it. 2. What I am and have gone through will maybe help someone else along the way.

Things for my husband, whom we will call Otis for now. Andy Griffith fans may catch the refference.

Well, they are just not good. If you continue to follow my story along the way, you will learn just how bad things can get. I try to keep a positive outlook and find some humor along the way.

Do I have a lot to confess? You betcha. Have I been an innocent victim along the way? Hell no. I have said, done, and have confessions that startle even me.

First off, I am full of resentment—tons and tons of it. Go ahead, you can ask. Why in the hell are you still in this if you have been so miserable. That is a great question and one that has many answers. Not everyone who reads my confessions is going to side with me. I have been hit before by hateful and nasty comments.

It is okay. I can take it. However, one thing being married to a drunk will do for you it will thicken your skin. I will give you a slightly condensed answer. At first, I stayed because I thought I could help Otis. I was going to save him. It is okay; you can laugh. Everyone knows or will learn you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.

Next, we had three kids. I came from a big family, as did he, and divorce just didn't cross my mind...then. So I faked it. I wanted happy kids, from a happy family.

I got the happy kids.

Just not the happy family. More on that later. Lastly, we married very young. I had my first baby at 19. From my parents ' home, I went straight out of school into being a mom and playing house myself.

Then comes babies two and three. I had no real employable skills, lived 2800 miles away from my family, no help, and did not know what I was doing.

Otis, at first was a hard-working man, made money supported a family. Then it was as if someone threw a switch. He went from coming straight home from work to stopping for a cold beer at the bar.

One drink turned into too many. He was driving drunk and started not coming home because he would go park somewhere and sleep it off. It took a hard turn on our marriage.

The fighting and bickering became endless. I found he was a drunk; he also became addicted to pills, cocaine, and gambling—pretty much anything and everything.

The kids started getting fed up with their dad too. Who could blame us? What did I do? I overcompensated. I was both mom and dad still am. Kids grew up, became successful, and god only knows how well-adjusted.

They have moved into their own homes and rarely have anything to do with their father. I would say it is only Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving they see him. Maybe one or two times other than that.

They refuse to deal with the stress of Otis. Again, who can blame them. They have a firm set of rules over seeing their dad or allowing the grandkids around him. I get it.

Wayne and Garth fast forward to the present. Otis is now 59. He drinks every day all day long. He barely works and contributes to the household. If being a booze and pill junkie isn't enough, he has now added on diabetes, pancreatitis, emphysema, COPD, and high blood pressure as well as bipolar into the mix.

He is dying a slow, ugly death by his choice. Being very blunt, his skin is a bluish/gray color. He has yellow eyes. He can hardly walk around without complaining of pain. Thus the reason he feels no need to work. He can't get a disability because he has been self-employed for 40-years.

Otis has racked up more hospital bills than I care to count. He has detoxed, suffered seizures and memory loss. He has also been taken by ambulance twice this year so far and zapped with Narcan.

The man doesn't take care of himself at all.

Otis hasn't showered since the first of the year. He refuses a haircut or to brush his teeth. He pees and craps himself. this new development is happening more often than not. He has come home from being out soaked in urine.

We have separate bedrooms; he wets the bed, lays in it, does nothing to clean it up. Pretty freaking disgusting! I have set some boundaries. They are me refusing to take him to the store for alcohol and cigarettes. I will not give him money for it.

I have stopped doing his laundry, cleaning up his messes. If he is too wasted and falls down, he sleeps where he falls unless it poses real damage to himself.

I just do my own thing. I stay in my lane. I have had conversations until I'm blue in the face about this. He has more than made it clear he does