I'm home tonight, and I'm feeling like I've had enough. My husband was high. "It's just weed," he insisted.
"I've had a headache for weeks! I can't sleep!" he justified.
And so, it's just weed. It might help with his headache. He's been having a hard time. It's all true, and I'm sorry for him. In the end, though, I don't care.
I'm tired of being around illegal things. I'm tired of him spending money to get high when he won't spend money on bills. I'm tired of him being high and not being present in the relationship. I don't want to do this anymore.
I never thought I'd be a person who was particularly opposed to pot. I always kind of liked pot, and smoked piles of it myself. At this point in my life, though, I'm tired of drugs. I'm tired of alcohol and drugs. I'm tired of worrying about people who I love very much and their relationships to alcohol and drugs. I'm tired of thinking about drugs. I'm tired of negotiating about drugs. I'm tired of being afraid that police will come to my house.
I don't want it anymore. I love him very much. I know he's doing the best he can, and I know that I can't change him. In this relationship, I've been dealt a particular hand, and I accept it.
I accept that he is an addict.
I accept that he's unemployed.
I accept that he isn't going to contribute.
I accept that he is not going to be a fully engaged partner.
The next step for me, then, is to start changing the things I can. I hate thinking about it...It's scary and it's hard and it's sad, but I'm losing myself in this relationship.
I look at my life, and I see so much good. I see good friends, good tools, good work. I see that I'm satisfied with everything except my marriage. I'm tired of sitting, waiting for him to wake up...snap out of it...change...get better.
There's a wall in my house that's half-painted. He'd decided one day while rapt in an addict-fantasy that he'd contribute around the house by painting. He pulled out some paints, and he half-painted a few walls. If he'd finished, it would have been a beautiful job...but he didn't, and now the wall has been half-painted for about six months.
The wall bothers me. It embarrasses me if people come over. I feel a little trapped because sometimes I think I'd like to sell the house in a hurry, and I can't because there are all these things I have to fix...projects he's half-finished...before I can put it on the market. Sometimes, I think that if he were gone, I'd paint that wall myself, or I'd find a way to hire someone to come in and do it. So much in my life looks like it's on hold because he isn't moving forward, when really, I could move forward independent of him. Having him as a part of my equation keeps me stuck.
I want peace. I want to be happy. I can't have peace and happiness, not truly and fully, when I'm living with him.
I need to tell him something, but I'm not sure what it is I want to say, and I'm not sure why I want to say it. For so long, I would have these "talks" with him...I'd prepare these long speeches that I felt like would change his mind...convince him to change his ways. I know that I can't convince him to do anything by talking, but I feel like I need to say something about what I'm feeling...I'm just not sure what it is. I'm not sure what the point is when he won't be able to hear it:
I'm frustrated, and I'm disappointed. I don't expect I'll keep living with you much longer. I'm tired of living in things I cannot change. I'm ready to move on to things I can...