I'm really, really tired lately. "Tired" isn't the right word. I'm somehow spiritually worn down, emotionally drained. I feel guilty that I'm not happier. He's on the right track. I'm on the right track. We're both doing what we should be doing, for now.
I just can't shake that urge to include the footnote, though...the "for now." I can't stop expecting the other shoe to fall. I'm not enjoying the good times we're having.
I just wish everything were better. Tomorrow's pay day, which always makes the world look a little brighter...but I'm even wary of that. I'll get my check, pay the bills, and then be broke for two more weeks.
I wish he'd stuck with methadone, really. If he'd stuck with the clinic, which he did for about a week before deciding he wanted to go cold turkey, I know he'd be working. He'd have been able to keep his shit together to keep the exciting job he fucked up, and we'd be doing really well financially. We'd be fixing up our home. He'd feel better about himself. Everything wouldn't be so dire.
But maybe this will be for the best, in the long run. Methadone might have made it too easy for him, and it might have made it easy to think, "Oh, I can do it once, one more time. I can pick it up and put it down." The madness that has ensued for the last 7 months of our lives has been memorable, if nothing else, and it's made him realize that he's got to have help to do this right. That's something to be grateful for.
And look at me, thinking about him and what's going on in his head. I really don't want to face my own head lately.