The Alcoholic's Wife: The Beginning

I stumbled upon this site by accident, and the more I looked into it the more I found that this might just be the perfect place to share the details of my life. Things I don't want anyone else to know, things I am feeling that I feel no one else would ever understand.

First off I am 54-years-old. I have been married 36 years and have three grown kids that have all become amazing adults despite their dysfunctional upbringing.

I got the idea to keep a journal blog from another blogger known as the Immortal Alcoholic. Some of you may have heard of her. She detailed every minute of all the hell she lived within her marriage to an alcoholic husband.

A little background on my life before jumping into all the nastys that go along with alcoholism.

My husband was not always an alcoholic. We married young because we were dumb and thought that our love would be the most spectacular love anyone has ever seen.

Fast forward to the year 1990. I had just given birth to our second daughter and this is when my life changed for the worse. The husband began staying out after work to sit at a local bar before coming home.

Next, he was joining in on bowling leagues, dart leagues, anything that there was plenty of alcohol flowing. His stops after work turned into closing the bars down nightly.

Next my AH getting home by even 3:30 AM was getting stretched into not coming home for days at a time. By the time all of this reached this point, I had also given birth to my third child, a son.

So here I was, a stay at home mom of three, never had a job and was totally dependant on my husband's job to take care of us all. Stupid, I know. I was also living thousands of miles away from any member of my family. So pretty much all alone.

Needless to say, I tried everything to get my husband to get his act together. I cried, begged, shamed, swore, threatened. Nothing I did or said had any impact.

It has been a day to day nightmare. The things he has done and the dangers he has put us through sounds like something out of a bad movie of the week.

During this time I not only had to deal with a drunk, but I also found out that he had gotten hooked on cocaine. This added more misery and a slew of major financial problems on to boot.

We will jump ahead now, skipping the details of his four DUI's, time in jail, and a fortune of fines paid, pretty much the norm for a full-blown alcoholic.

Now in 2018, my kids are all grown college graduates and doing very well in their lives. How did I manage to raise such great kids despite the environment they grew up in? I did, however, do everything in my power to shelter them and protect them from their father's drunken crap.

In the past three years, my AH has been hospitalized at least six times due to his drinking. He often goes into the ER screaming of stomach pains and feeling as if he is dying. The routines are always the same. I.V., nausea meds, something for pain, and the lecture.

The lecture, god how he hates them. Tey start off with a hospital social worker coming in asking all kinds of questions, telling him there are a number of programs, meetings, and rehabs that will help him regain control of his life.

He listens with a look of pure hatred on his face and tells them he will handle things on his own. Next here come the doctors. They do not beat around the bush. They point blank tell him he is killing himself. They tell him this time he was lucky and that next time he may not have luck on his side. Straight up they say, "Dude, you are dying. You are committing a slow suicide." IF You Don't Stop Drinking Now, you will die sooner rather than later."

He nods as if he understands. However, the doctors shoot me a look like, "Sorry, there is nothing more we can say or do." He is released from the hospital.

He returns home chatting about how he knows he needs to stop drinking and he will. He admits it will be hard for him. He is ready to give it 100 percent effort.

That is all good for a couple of days later and he returns to work, comes home with booze on breath, and an alcohol bottle in the garage fridge. When asked about why he was drinking when he was so gung-ho about quitting and getting healthy, he replies, "I am going to cut down. I can handle drinking a couple every night, I just won't get drunk." Famous last words. The sun comes up the next day, and he wakes reeking of booze and an empty bottle within reach.

I just shake my head. I can't even get disappointed anymore. I have heard it all a hundred times before, and I will hear it a hundred times more until the time comes of his last drunk when he will just not ever say anything ever again.

Next, I am going to start my daily blog and account of his downhill fall. I think writing it all down and having someone else see what others go through might help.