Tuesday, January 6, 2009


There was a newcomer at our meeting tonight, and man, it really fucked with the cozy head space I'd carved for myself out of my husband's new recovery. She'd found a syringe, a spoon, and she'd done all the crazy, investigative things you do when you first figure out that someone you love is using. As she described the stuff she'd found and the places where she'd found it, my response was physical. Visceral. I could imagine reaching in the closet, sticking my hand above the door, and feeling the syringe...knowing what it was before you knew what it was.

She was very concerned with getting sure that it wasn't heroin...she seemed to hope that it was pain pills somehow consumed through a syringe as a superior alternative to heroin. I remember the first night I found a syringe and how I'd hoped and hoped that it would be anything besides heroin. I'm not sure why. I'd already seen that my husband could go to some pretty scary places with pain pills, so I don't know why heroin seemed so dire.

I guess it's because it was dire. Heroin changed everything. He could get himself back from a bender with pain pills, but he got a lot more lost in heroin.

I guess, though, that in the end, it was what had to happen. He had to reach a place where he couldn't get himself back so that he'd find what he's finding now...the fellowship of other addicts, finding their ways back to themselves. And I had to be there with him, every step of the way, to find my own way back to myself.

He and his sponsor have been marching along, meeting together pretty rigorously. He's diligently doing his homework, calling his sponsor, and attending his meetings. I couldn't manage him better myself, which is a little shocking. I like to think that I can manage him more perfectly than he can manage himself, of course.

He attended a meeting recently that was a step study, focusing on the fifth step. He is suddenly quite anxious about having to tell his secrets, to face them out loud. He woke up several times last night having nightmares about stuff that he says he doesn't want to talk about but that he knows he'll have to talk about soon.


I guess it takes some big demons to chase you to heroin.

I know, though, that I wasn't going to stop running until I figured out what was chasing me. Working the steps, more than anything else I've ever done in my life, has helped me to put words to my experiences, and I trust in this process. I trust it will help him as it has helped me, and I'm excited to watch him unfold.