"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live."-Dorothy Thompson
He called to ask when I'll be home. I told him I'd be going to the meeting straight from work unless he would like to come with me. He pretended not to hear the part about coming with me, and said, "So you'll be home late?"
And suddenly, I was full of fear. Panic. Sadness. He's not been to a meeting in nearly a month, and I've been doing a good job of not caring about it. It's his recovery, or lack of recovery, and it's not my business. My business is to take care of myself, whatever that means.
It has been good for me, I think, to let go of his recovery, to let him handle it or not handle it and to keep it very clear in my mind that all I can do is react to his behaviors. If he continues down this path, and it continues to be unacceptable to me, then eventually, I'll get out of the unacceptable situation. It's healthier to let him figure it out on his own and to figure it out on my own...
And yet tonight, I'm scared. I'm scared because I know what path he's on, and I don't want him to go that way. I want him to be ok, and he's not ok enough, not yet. I want it to happen faster, whatever "it" is. I want release from this fear, from my anxiety over his future and our future together.
I do want it. Apparently, I don't want it enough to leave. Not yet.
I made a new friend this weekend. In talking to her, we ended up kind of revealing our life stories in that way that you do when you meet someone nice and you hit it off well. Telling someone new my adventures as a junky's wife gave me an interesting sense of perspective. It was interesting to me that I had to tell her these deeply personal things about myself in order to be able to explain who I am and how I'm living. My role in this relationship is a huge part of my identity presently, which I don't like. I'm a junky's wife, still. I'm working on myself, and I'm growing, and I'm doing the best I can; but still, at my core, the most essentially true thing about me is that I am married to a heroin addict. My life is built around reacting to my husband's disease.
I am predicting for myself such peace if I can ever get over this hump. I'm finally growing tired of the drama, the trauma, that I've been bathed in for so long. I just kind of want things to be quiet, to have time with me, to figure out who exactly it is that I am.
He called to ask when I'll be home. I told him I'd be going to the meeting straight from work unless he would like to come with me. He pretended not to hear the part about coming with me, and said, "So you'll be home late?"
And suddenly, I was full of fear. Panic. Sadness. He's not been to a meeting in nearly a month, and I've been doing a good job of not caring about it. It's his recovery, or lack of recovery, and it's not my business. My business is to take care of myself, whatever that means.
It has been good for me, I think, to let go of his recovery, to let him handle it or not handle it and to keep it very clear in my mind that all I can do is react to his behaviors. If he continues down this path, and it continues to be unacceptable to me, then eventually, I'll get out of the unacceptable situation. It's healthier to let him figure it out on his own and to figure it out on my own...
And yet tonight, I'm scared. I'm scared because I know what path he's on, and I don't want him to go that way. I want him to be ok, and he's not ok enough, not yet. I want it to happen faster, whatever "it" is. I want release from this fear, from my anxiety over his future and our future together.
I do want it. Apparently, I don't want it enough to leave. Not yet.
I made a new friend this weekend. In talking to her, we ended up kind of revealing our life stories in that way that you do when you meet someone nice and you hit it off well. Telling someone new my adventures as a junky's wife gave me an interesting sense of perspective. It was interesting to me that I had to tell her these deeply personal things about myself in order to be able to explain who I am and how I'm living. My role in this relationship is a huge part of my identity presently, which I don't like. I'm a junky's wife, still. I'm working on myself, and I'm growing, and I'm doing the best I can; but still, at my core, the most essentially true thing about me is that I am married to a heroin addict. My life is built around reacting to my husband's disease.
I am predicting for myself such peace if I can ever get over this hump. I'm finally growing tired of the drama, the trauma, that I've been bathed in for so long. I just kind of want things to be quiet, to have time with me, to figure out who exactly it is that I am.
