It was the end of yoga class today, and it was time for us all to lie still and pretend to be corpses. Savasana--the word itself sounds like a sigh of relief. At my school, the teachers bring around a cold, lavender-scented cloth to wipe your sweat and lay over your eyes, and it's your job to relax and enjoy the new openness you've just brought into your body through your practice.
I stretched my body out, got my cool cloth, and closed my eyes. I breathed one last, deep breath in, blew the air back out of my mouth, and was ready to slip into a few moments of silent stillness.
Immediately, I began obsessing in a way that I can't quite understand. It was a past resentment, something I thought I'd let go of, that came rushing right up to my mental foreground.
You see, my husband got paid $68 for some work he did a few weeks ago, and he took the money to a pawn shop and bought a video game system with it. He didn't give it to me to pay the electric bill. He didn't buy food for the dogs. He didn't buy groceries. He didn't buy methadone for himself. He bought a fucking Nintendo GameCube. It made me furious for days, and we fought about it, and he justified it six ways from Sunday, and I called everyone who ever attended a Nar-Anon meeting in my town and told them all about it, and I cried and freaked out and finally, finally, finally, I prayed about it, and I thought I'd turned it over.
Apparently, I didn't turn it over. Apparently, I'd stored it in my hips, and pigeon posture followed by frog worked it right back up again.
I spent my five minutes of quiet raging. I don't know why I'd waste my time. It doesn't hurt him. It only hurts me. It doesn't change a thing.
My husband is foolish with money. Because he didn't spend the money on heroin, he feels like he's had some kind of a victory. Probably, it is a victory. When I am struggling to keep a job together and pay the mortgage every month, however, it doesn't seem like a victory to me. It seems like another failure in a long list, another let-down, and more evidence that he's not ready to be a grown up...more evidence that he's a luxury I can't afford.
Today, that's where I am. He's not a satisfactory partner, and I'm not ready or willing to leave him. The more I acknowledge to myself the reality of this situation, the better off I think I'll be.
He's in Day 8 of his detox now, and it's not been so awful. He's sick a lot, and he's miserable a lot, but this time is better than all the other detoxes I've seen him through. I don't know if it's because this is something that he's chosen instead of being backed into a corner like he usually is or if the detox from methadone is just a less excruciating but more prolonged experience...but it's not so bad for him, which means it's not so bad for me. If I can just keep my own mind from wondering off into places it has no business, I could be rather content with my life...