Shadows of Alcoholism

I look fine right? Hell, I look blessed looking from the outside in. Nice cars, nice house, kids in private school. I’m told all the time how much my husband talks about me and how devoted he is to me.

And he is… he loves me passionately. He tells me I am the reason he is alive, the reason he has accomplished all he has in his lifetime. His wife… his muse. He tells me he needs me. He says he wants me all the time. He says he is sorry.

How many times have I heard he is sorry?

“ I don’t want to disrespect you”

“ I don’t want to live like this”

“Help me”

You see, for 17 years now I have been married to a wonderful, talented, passionate, amazing man who suffers from alcoholism.

He has never laid a hand on me. My bruises lie not on the skin. My scars are deeper that slash through the heart and burn behind my eyelids washed in salty tears.

So many secrets are hidden from even my heart so that I can survive. Brutal betrayals that left me blindsided and lost. Trust flits around like a nervous shadow afraid of what the light will reveal.

I want to trust him. So badly I want to just feel peace and trust because I know he wants to be good and he wants to do right by me… right by his kids.

The kids are older now… they are starting to notice. Making eye contact with me around corners and waiting until the house is quiet with sleeping minds before searching me out for answers. Their innocence and confusion rips at my soul. I want to protect them from it all and shield them from this reality. I also want to be honest with them. They are smart and they see and they feel helpless. I want to empower them to not feel helpless… as I feel but never say out loud even to myself.

The truth is, things are better than they used to be. There were once pills, and drugs, late nights at bars… the affair. I guess I should feel relieved, but maybe I’m just waiting for the next fall… the next slip.

It comes in waves, a cycle that has become far too familiar. First, it’s the fall then the regret and abstinence from drinking. Slowly beers start to make their place again in the house… in the truck. Then the crown bottle appears and it’s just a matter of time. It doesn’t take long… it never does. There is no resistance, he welcomes the blurring and release. I’m left picking up the pieces. Through blurry eyes of my own, I cry out, “Is your life so bad you must drink it away? What are you escaping from?”

Dead eyes. Hopeless Eyes. Eyes of Regret and Despair.

He once asked me, “What is wrong with you that you would stay with someone like me?”

I had no answer. I love him. I love the man I see behind the alcohol. I love the man I know he is and can be. He is everything I want and need when he is sober and I cling to the hope that he will someday beat this demon. I dream of saving him, inspiring him to realize he is better than what he thinks he deserves. He is better than the childhood he was given and the past that haunts him. He has already proven that they were all wrong. So why does he defeat himself, like he doesn’t deserve happiness? I can’t walk away despite the pain, the heartache, the complete sadness that overwhelms me at times and brings me to my knees.

“Help me”…. I’m trying. God knows I’m trying.