Wednesday, February 20, 2008

A Year.

A year ago today, I started this new life.

My husband and I had fought, and he'd left to go to his parents' house. I was very upset, very confused about what was wrong. We'd been married less than a year, and we'd recently moved into a new and exciting home. He'd gotten a new job that was going to pay much better, and we had lots of great things on our horizon.

But something was wrong. He was temperamental, angry, exhausted, and he had all kinds of health problems all of a sudden...strange things. Skin issues, stomach issues, sleep issues...everything seemed broken and wrong, and I was scared. I was scared that he didn't love me anymore. I was scared that we'd made a horrible mistake by buying a house. I was afraid that he was depressed. I was afraid that I wasn't good enough, that something irrevocably wrong with me was causing his problems.

I was sitting on the couch in our living room surrounded by unpacked boxes, thinking, "I should get up and unpack these boxes. I'll feel better if I do something." I was angry that I'd been unpacking boxes alone. I was angry because money was disappearing, constantly, and I didn't know why. It was money, actually, that started the fight that sent him fleeing to his mother's house.

I stood up and slid the couch out to get to a few boxes behind it. There was a spoon. It was an odd place for a spoon, under the couch, so I picked it up. It was burned on the bottom. I moved the couch again, and there was a plastic bag. In the bag were two syringes.

I remember thinking, "Oh...he's using. That's bad...but it's ok, though. He'll stop using, and everything will get better."

I really believed it.

He got back home after a few hours, and he was visibly high. I couldn't believe I'd lived with him in this condition and not known what was going on.

He sat down on the couch, still angry from our fight...still angry that I would dare accuse him of doing anything inappropriate with the hundreds of dollars that had been disappearing...

I sat down in front of him, on my knees, and took his hands:

I love you very, very much. I found the needles you were hiding under the couch. It's ok. Don't get upset. I understand...but this has to stop. You can't steal from me. I've been so scared and confused, and now I understand...I want to help you. How can I help you?

We talked for a long time, and he told me lots of things that I later learned were lies and made promises that he couldn't keep.

And it hurts me...oh, how it hurts me to remember that night and the weeks following and the months following and all the pain of the last year. It has been hard, and I've done some real hurting...but it also fills me with hope.

I've grown so much. This experience has been something of a spiritual training ground for me. I was afraid that I was going to lose myself, my husband, my marriage...and instead, I've found me. By fearing that I would lose everything, I've found the only thing that matters. Facing days and days of pain, I've found the treasure of every beautiful moment. I've found that I'm enough, that I'll always be enough.