Let's Try.

My husband didn't come home last night. He showed up this morning at 7 a.m. I get lost between when he is bamboozling me and when we are having communication problems and when I am paranoid and when he's trying to hurt me on purpose and when I'm deliberately misunderstanding him because I like to feel the special pain I get when I'm being hurt by him. It's comfortable and easy there.

This part is the hardest part yet, I think. I am afraid of other women, and I think my husband might be enjoying me being afraid. We both feel like we owe each other a lot of hurting.

I made this site private because he's been reading a lot, and he is particularly upset about my posts about marriage counseling, which I understand. I should have considered how he might feel if he read my posts about our private counseling sessions. It wasn't my intention to hurt him, but I see how it happened. I don't really know what to do next about this stuff.

I needed to write tonight, though. My husband has been scaring me with the spectre of other women. Maybe he's actually screwing around with other women. I've been crazy and he's been crazy, and all this not coming home and not calling or leaving a note is a new trick that I'm not ready to learn. I am in a lot of pain, and I don't know how to make it stop.

That's not true. I know how to make it stop. I have tools now. I have a lot of people who love me and who will take care of me when I am hurting. It's going to take time and be hard, but I will get better. There will be a way out.

When he finally came home this evening, he said that he wants us both to commit to trying to respect each other's feelings more. I am glad he's noticing that my feelings are getting trounced, and I am happy to try to respect his feelings more as well. I keep asking him to tell me specific things I can do to be more supportive, and he's not able to tell me much. I asked him for a few specific things, like showing me physical affection, holding me when I'm having a hard time, and trying to control his anger from turning into an outburst, and in spite of how bad the last few days have been, he has been trying.

I love him. He's hurting me, and I love him. I want this to stop, but I'm not ready to stop it. I don't know where I lost my will to leave, but it's completely gone right now.

I'm doing the best I can, though. I only have a little work to do tomorrow, so I'm planning to sleep in, go to yoga, eat good things, take a warm bath, and go easy on myself. I'm having a rough time, and I got some good advice from my sponsor tonight about being kind to myself. I know how to take good care of me, and I'll put it to work tomorrow.

Insecure.

I am feeling real insecure in my marriage right now. My husband and I had a lovely day together yesterday, but there are a lot of things that aren't right. I'm not right and he's not right, and we aren't able to communicate about it very well at all.

I feel like my heart is going to explode. I hate this feeling. I have therapy today and a meeting tonight, and I'm sitting at the prayer center I like right now. I'm trying to turn this stuff over, and I'm having a real hard time. I want to find someone to help me work through these things. Maybe I can find someone here to talk to me.

Prayers and other such white light welcome.

The Return.

I spent Saturday night out of town with a girlfriend, and I came back home yesterday. I was a little worried, and I prayed all the way home about my return. My husband and I have established a stupid pattern for when we reunite after I go out of town. We hate each other. We treat each other like strangers, invaders, and enemies.

Before addiction undermined the deep current of affection and attraction that initially drew us together, we came back to each other after being away like lovers should. We were eager to see each other...passionate...affectionate. I would anticipate coming back home and falling into his arms and smothering him with kisses. Once the addiction started wreaking havoc on our relationship, though, it became different. I'd drag back home, stopping frequently to avoid the inevitable arrival at the scene of all the pain. It was liberating to get away from the dark cloud that hung heavy over my husband, and I hated coming back into it. I hated seeing him, and I hated that I knew shortly after I came in, he'd be distant and cold or angry or he'd ask me for things that I didn't want to give him.

On his side, even after the madness of active addiction stopped, he'd feel resentful that I had left him. He's chained to the methadone clinic, and it's been a long time since he's been able to go out of town. He's lonely, bored, and frustrated, and sometimes the one bit of relief he gets from the repetition of being home alone all day, trapped in his sick mind, is me. He's not always warm and fuzzy to me, but he does appreciate my presence and look forward to it. When I go away and am not around to take some of the weight off of his dark cloud, it makes him angry.

So we'd come back together, pissed off at each other before we'd even begun to interact in any real way at all.

Last night, though, I prayed that we would be able to see each other through God's eyes. I came in the door, and he rounded a corner away from me. I felt a surge of anger rise in me...he can't even say hello? I came to him, put my arms around him, and gave him a kiss. I felt his body melt against mine, and I felt his heart open to welcome me back home. "There's some dinner in the kitchen if you'd like some..." he said, tentatively.

My little gesture of affection allowed me to see his affection. Changing my own attitude, ignoring the voice that was asking me to see what is wrong with him above all that is right, opened my heart to all that was good.

Unglued.

My husband announced to me tonight that he's not going to go back to anymore meetings.

No explanation, really, other than that he thinks it's not the right thing to do. He said he's been ritualistically attending meetings and not believing in what he's hearing there. I'm not sure what he means, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I think he expected me to fight with him, but I didn't. I didn't know what kind of response he was looking for, and I'm not sure how I'm feeling about his announcement.

We have developed a really nice Thursday night ritual over the last few months. We've been consistently going to the meeting together, and we've been committed to hanging out with each other after. We make dinner and watch television and talk, and it's been something pleasant and consistent, and just the kind of thing that I need to be able to begin to develop some trust. I am upset that he is deciding to stop going to meetings, which means that he's now in effect cutting all ties with any semblance of recovery, but honestly I'm more upset that our special evening is canceled.

I'm also frustrated that he gives me a really hard time about how little time I spend with him, but then he opts out of many of the opportunities we have to spend together. It seems like his idea of spending time together is for me to stay home with him so he can sleep in front of me, ignore me to watch television, or yell at me.

I am afraid that he is coming unglued. He spends his days in bed, and his outburst this weekend has rendered me somewhat speechless to express my feelings. I am afraid. I'm afraid in every way, and I don't like to be afraid.

I've started my 30 day prayer ritual again that I learned from my Al-Anon sponsor. Her suggestion is that I pray for 30 days before I make any big decision in my life so that I can be sure that my decision has roots in a sound spiritual place. Instead of running away from my relationship with my husband when it gets difficult, I am to pray about what God's will is for me in this relationship. My urge to flee is strong right now. I don't want to go backwards, but I know that if I cut and run right now, I'll regret it. I love this man very much, and if our relationship is going to have to end, I need it to end with some grace.

I am tired, though, of this roller coaster. I want the reigns back on my own life. I am tired of living at effect, and I want to begin to grow and move forward again. It's hard to do when I'm constantly sidetracked because of my obsession with my husband.

I love him. I want him to go away. I want him to stay always.

When We Sleep.

Ahhh!

I can't stop being too attracted to my husband to be able to set boundaries right. He's been being very sorry for being a jerk, and I've been too smitten with him to be able to talk about what happened between us this past weekend.

I spoke with my Al-Anon sponsor about it and about boundaries in general. I told her that so far, we'd not had much of an opportunity to talk because I'd been avoiding him except for when we sleep. She said that I should try to continue to avoid him except for when we sleep until he's been clean for a year. When I burst out laughing, she said that she's serious.

It's still funny.

It's interesting to watch someone who has been consumed by darkness for so long battling with himself as he's becoming more and more filled with light. It's interesting, but it hurts when he lashes out at me.

Unwired.

My computer crashed this past weekend, and I've been debilitatingly unwired at a time when I could have used some cathartic writing. I've forgotten how to write in a notebook. It doesn't feel real to me anymore.

My husband had a tantrum on Easter Sunday. We were having a lovely morning, eating a breakfast together that he'd made and drinking coffee while sitting in our swing in the front yard. The sun was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The air smelled great.

We were talking about the church service we were about to go to and the potluck we'd planned to attend later that day. We'd both been looking forward all week to the events, and the day was starting off so warm and easy.

I started talking about how I'd been considering going back to school, and how I'd thought of applying to a lot of different kinds of programs...maybe social work. Maybe for literature. Maybe divinity school...

He got upset at the idea of me going back to school, and he was very defensive. I'm not sure what the idea of me going to school brings up for him, but it all culminated in him screaming at me and punching a(nother) whole in the wall.

It's been a long time since I've seen that side of him, and it scares me. I am still kind of reeling.

I went to church by myself. He apologized later, and I appreciate his apology. It was sincere, and I realize that he's in the first throes of the first year of his recovery. He's doing well, considering how sick he's been. He's detoxing from methadone gradually, but it's rapid enough to affect his mood. I understand. I empathize. I appreciate that he apologizes...but I am still not sure that I am willing to live in a situation that can be so volatile. I am afraid of him when he is violent, and I don't think I have many more of these incidents left in me.

It was particularly hurtful because I can't find anything I could have done differently. Often when we have a fight, I can see that I have a part in it. I might have been harsh with my words or blamed him for something that isn't his. While nothing I could do will warrant a violent response, it at least helps me to understand how the situation escalated. On Easter morning, though, there was nothing I could have done differently. We were just talking, and he blew up without a reason that I can see.

I've been talking to all kinds of sponsors and friends and therapists about this stuff, though, and so I'm hoping that I will work it out. For now, I'm still ruminating.

What Happened?

I am still kind of amazed at how I lost my temper with my husband yesterday, and I'm trying to figure out how I slipped. I think there are a few things. Money is a big, big trigger for me, and it was a situation where I felt like he was being foolish with money that could have gone to bills. Also, I'd just checked out my finances and seen that I'm in a big old bind right now, and I am not expecting to be paid again until the 15th of next month. I was afraid, and to see him lackadaisically spending money made me furious.

But I don't understand what lead me to blow up so carelessly. I am generally really careful at keeping my tongue in line, and I said something really hurtful to my husband. Also, I set myself up for him to say hurtful things back to me, and I created a situation where I didn't get my needs met because he was too hurt and angry to be able to hear what was really going on.

I don't know why I slipped. I am a little obsessed with it.

In the end, though, it's been a good recovery for us. We had a good night after talking through it at marriage counseling, and it's a big deal for us to be able to get to the other side of a big fight without enduring hurt. I know, though, that there will be residual hurt on both of our parts for a while, and we don't need it in our relationship. There's enough residual hurt.

Why am I not perfect yet?

I Think I Got It.

My husband got arrested last week. He's had a warrant for nearly a year now, and he's been anticipating the day that the cops would show up at our house and arrest him.

It was odd how well it all worked out. He'd just finished an odd job, and he had just enough money to bail himself out. He called the bail bondsman himself, and I didn't have to do anything except drive the money around for him.

I was sad and afraid for him, but mostly, I felt really good about everything. Even in the midst of it all, I was able to see that God's will was being done. This warrant was something he'd been putting off dealing with, and it has been a real impediment to his personal growth. Now, he is going to have to take care of it, and it all happened at a time when he had enough money and internal resources to deal with it. Also, it happened at a time when I was feeling pretty good in myself, and I was better able to deal with it. He was put into handcuffs in our front yard at 6:30, and at 7:00, I was at a Nar-Anon meeting with my sponsor and my friends, telling my story. It was perfect, or as perfect as such things could be.

His court date is next week, and I am hoping that he will get his probation reinstated now that he's clean and willing. Whatever happens, though, I am feeling pretty good about it. I'm in a good place, and I've truly turned this stuff over. All I can do in this situation is to take care of myself, pray, and to love him and support him to the best of my ability. Nothing else serves me, him, or anyone else.

Whatever.

I am amazed of late by the things that fail to piss me off.

My husband finished another of his odd jobs today, and he got a pretty big paycheck. I am $500 short on our bills this month, so whatever contribution he makes to the bills will be a real big help. He called me a few minutes ago, and he's shopping. He said that since we have extra money, he wants to pick up a few things. He asked me about my shoe size, so apparently, he's also shopping for me.

Not too long ago, even if he'd sweetly said he was going to buy a few things for me, I would have been pissed by the idea of "extra money." There is no extra money unless he is planning to give me more than the $500 I'm short. I'm certain he's not.

In the end, I find it slightly annoying that he's making choices that I don't agree with about his money, but I'm still grateful that he's making better choices than he used to make. I'm hoping he'll help me out some, and I'll be grateful for whatever he contributes. He knows that the finances are pretty dire, as we are reaching the point where we are sometimes having utilities cut off, and I have told him recently that I am going to be $500 short this month. If he chooses to spend his money differently that I would spend mine, that's his choice.

My husband is kind of an ass with money, and I love him anyway. Getting upset about another bad series of decisions with money won't make him stop spending his money foolishly. It bugs me, but it's not a deal breaker--at least not today. It's certainly better than when he hid every dime he made from me to spend it all on heroin and cocaine.

So, when we get our power cut off at the end of the month, I'll smile at him in my new shoes and camp out by candlelight.

Roar.

My husband.

Sigh.

Last night, he performed a long soliloquy about his mother and all her flaws as an addict. She blames other people for her problems. She is unhappy but isn't willing to take the steps to make herself happy. She refuses to see the extent to which her addiction has torn her life apart. She refuses to change. He wishes she would change. She works a bullshit program. She doesn't connect with God right. She should stop going to AA meetings because it isn't really for her. She already has the spirit of God in her, and so AA has nothing to offer her. She needs to go to jail. She doesn't understand the consequences of her behavior. She's selfish. She's ungrateful. She doesn't appreciate how hard his father works to support their family. She isn't like other addicts. She's exactly like other addicts.

These speeches are hard to hear.

It makes me wonder, though, if he is serving as a mirror for me. When I am judging my husband for behavior that seems outrageous, I wonder if it's not sometimes a twist on behavior that I sometimes see in myself?

It Just Isn't Right.

Something isn't. I don't know what, but I know it's something. It's been helpful to me to record this little, niggling sensations, so I wanted to record this one.

My husband seems suspicious of me, and it makes me suspicious of him and edgy. I left town this weekend to visit family, and he asked me accusatory questions about my schedule. I told him when I'd leave town and when I'd get back, and it made him angry that my response hadn't been in more detail. I am just visiting family, so there isn't much of a schedule involved. We ate things. We hung out. We talked about stuff. We played with the children and ate some more.

Today, I began some counseling to help me deal with the sexual abuse in my childhood. It's a very big step for me, and it's something I'm proud of doing. What I hope most that will come of this counseling is to find a way to learn to trust myself. When I have feelings about my relationship not being quite right, I am often deeply distrustful of myself. I don't trust him, but I don't trust me, either. I don't trust myself to know when he's telling the truth or to know when he's lying. I hope to get some clarity.

A Dent.

We have done something awful to our home. It started with my husband having an idea. He wanted to move around some furniture. I tried to distract him from his idea, and it worked for a long while; however, eventually, he decided to start moving furniture around.

My husband has great ideas, but he has a hard time following through with them. He started moving the furniture around in our house, but he never quite finished. There are living room components in the bedroom and bedroom parts in the kitchen. Everything is in a constant state of discomfort and disarray, and it seems that we have finally given up. There is trash, dirty laundry, dishes...everything, everywhere. For a while, it drove me crazy. I don't care anymore. I think my antidepressants have taken the edge off nicely.

Much of the mess is my husband's. I have managed to keep my laundry from being everywhere like some kind of lunatic confetti. My mess includes books and papers, but it's a pretty isolated area where I've stacked the books, waiting for a bookshelf to emerge out of the wreckage. Because it is his mess, I am reluctant to begin dealing with it. It's one of the cardinal rules of recovery...never do for the addict what the addict can do for himself. This is a mess my husband has made, and it should be his to clean up.

However, it is disheartening to come home and see the wreckage. It makes me kind of sad and tired. He says every day that he's going to clean it up, and he doesn't. He doesn't even begin. In fact, it gets worse...more clothes go everywhere. More dishes pile up in odd places. It's pretty crazy.

So today, I made a dent in the mess. I started in a little corner and put away what I could. Some clothes went into a laundry basket. Some shoes went into a closet. Some trash went into the trash can outside. My husband was a bit upset with me for starting. He was worried I'd put his shoes in the closet in a wrong way...although the shoes were lying willy-nilly all over the house, underneath boxes and trash and crap, he was concerned that I might crush his flip flops underneath his boots by putting them away. I assured him that I'd not hurt them, and kept cleaning.

I worked for about 30 minutes, but it did make a little difference. If I work for 30 minutes or so a day for the next million years, maybe at the end of it there will be a real house there, like people live in instead of wild animals. We'll see.

Tiger Kills Man.

I heard a news story on the radio a few mornings ago about a man who was killed by a Siberian tiger after trying to take a shortcut while hiking the Great Wall of China. Apparently, the man ignored warning signs about predatory animals, climbed several walls, and landed himself in the midst of the tiger's area in a wildlife park.

What a story!

My instant reaction, weirdly, was to feel kind of angry with my husband. I thought that it seemed like something he'd do...and I'd go right along with him.

"Come on! We'll take this shortcut!" he'd say.

"Oh, no. There were signs saying that there might be tigers," I'd tell him.

"Come on. Don't be lame. There's no tigers. I don't see any tigers. Do you see any tigers?"

"Well, no..."

"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to walk all the way around this park when we can just cut through right here. We'll be fine. I'm not scared of tigers. Why are you always so afraid? You should have faith! We'll be fine. Let's go!"

"Ok..."

Poor Chinese man. Poor decisions. I bet he had no idea that he was about to be eaten by a tiger. He really thought he'd be ok. I also bet that he had no idea that half a world away, some woman would rage quietly against her husband because of his decisions.

Confluence.

"Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase."

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

I'm trying to understand something. In my life, there has been a confluence of messages lately, and I want to know what they mean. I am praying for clarity.

It has something to do with being willing to take a risk, but it's a risk that doesn't sound so risky when I explain it to myself. Our marriage counselor keeps describing it as a risk...remaining in this marriage. Working things through. Trying.

And there is clearly a risk, as I've seen how bad things can get for both of us. My husband has been very sick in his addictions, and I've followed him right to the bottom. But that's not the risk that I keep finding, facing me, everywhere.

The risk is to be willing to be loving to the person I love most in the world.

It should be easy. It should be natural. It used to be, but it isn't anymore, or it wasn't. It's getting easier again, and it's getting easy quickly.

I bother myself when I can't be clear. I am chasing my tail with this stuff.

For weeks and weeks, my husband and I could not get along. We couldn't stop criticizing each other long enough to remember that we love each other very much. We became enemies, guarded and fearful and defensive, and we really were trapped in our mess. It's better now, suddenly, without much reason. I changed some things, and he changed some things. For a while, I thought it didn't matter that I'd changed some things, but I realize now that it just took him a little while to notice. It took me a while to notice his changes, too.

One of the lessons I keep learning is that it's not possible always to understand. I always want to understand. I want to know what's happening because I believe so much in the power of my mind. If I can figure stuff out, I can fix it. I can change the variables and rearrange the outcome.

But none of my machinations work. They never have. They take my energy, and that's all.

What has worked to make me happier, to make my relationship with my husband richer, and to make everything more peaceful in my life is loving kindness. When I come home, I talk to my husband. I smile at him. I give him a kiss and talk to him about my day. He tells me about his. I don't offer any opinions or suggestions about what he's done or what he should be doing. Things are the way they are. It's not my way. I love my husband anyway, and today, I want to be with him.

So maybe there's not a risk. Maybe I've finally found a fool-proof plan. Letting go and letting myself love the man I love...

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE EPISODE.

"MAJOR DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. RECURRENT CONDITION. SEVERE. Substance abuse. Mixed. In remission."

That's my diagnosis. It's interesting to see myself all spelled out like that, and to recognize the reality of how those words describe me. It was interesting to realize the "recurrent condition" part, and also the "severe." And, the "substance abuse" was unsettling...it's been so long since I've been that person--but my life is presently still in turmoil from the choices I made as an actively using person, years and years ago. No matter if I do drugs or not, my life and my choices still revolve around substance abuse.

If I'm not doing the drugs, I'm doing the addicts. Hah.

There's this pack of dogs that live in the cellar of my mind. They lunge and claw at the door, and generally, I can keep them quiet. Sometimes, though, every few years, I can't keep them out anymore.

I am now medicated, and feeling better with the promise of feeling better. My husband met me at the doctor's office, and it seemed to help him to be able to come and rescue me. It's helped us to be able to communicate with each other.

I went to see our marriage counselor by myself today. We talked about what has been going on, and we talked about the patterns that are emerging to try to determine if there are any we can break.

She asked me to think about myself, right now, and my husband, right now. I kept explaining how when I met him and fell in love with him, I was a very sick person in a very bad place...I am different now...and I don't think I would pick him off the street right now. I like to imagine that I would make better decisions about my relationships...and I believe that I would. However, I do love him, and I'm married to him, and he is like he is. Past me loved past him, and present me loves a possible future him...I am getting stuck, though, with present me and present him.

I have some accepting to do. And if I can't accept what I've got, then I've got to make some big moves.

I am glad, though, to have the promise of clarity that will come with some time on medication. My emotions are all jagged now, and I need some relief for myself before I can make any big decisions.

Lay Your Hands Over Me.

Come to me now
And lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie
Say it will be alright
And I shall believe
I'm broken in two
And I know you're on to me
That I only come home
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe...

-"I Shall Believe"

Tonight, I was very upset. I was crying, and I wished and wished for someone to come to me and comfort me. Most especially, I wished for my husband. He did not come.

For so many years of my life, I've been waiting for someone to show up who doesn't. I need to stop waiting, to find the love and loyalty within myself to comfort myself when I'm struggling.

I am depressed. I am going to go to see a doctor tomorrow. I can't keep doing this much longer. My thinking is crazy. I want to sleep. I want to get drunk. I think of ways to hurt myself. I am cycling through old patterns. I don't want to do this anymore, and I can't stop myself. I can't pray it out or meditate it out or meeting it out or yoga it out.

Addiction is a progressive, fatal disease. So is depression. I've been on and off anti-depressants for years, and I've been in and out of counseling since I was a teenager. I honestly believed that I'd found a way out of these cycles through recovery, but I think I've reached a wall I can't pass through on my own.

Tonight, as I cried and cried and cried and wished like hell for my husband to come to me, it felt so familiar, that deep desire to be picked up in someone's arms and told that I'm going to be ok. I wonder where this pattern is coming from...if there was some awful night when my mother was unable to comfort me, crying in my crib, and if I'm going to act this thing out until I find the trapdoor out of it.

I want my husband to come, pick me up, and change my diaper. I want him to hear me, see me. I want something from my outsides to fix my insides, and most especially, I want my husband to fix me. He's sick. He can't. I know these things to be true, but I think that now maybe I'm sick, too.

My Heart.

I don't want my marriage to have to end. I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't want it. I want my husband to be well and be mine. I want for us to live a long, happy life together. I don't want to give him up, more than anything else, ever. He has my heart, and he takes it with him when we are apart.

I am also exhausted, and I don't want to keep living this way.

There is an easy solution. When my husband was attending meetings regularly, working with a sponsor, and putting his efforts into recovery, our relationship was healthy and growing. When he began to slack off, we began to bicker. Now that he's doing nothing, we barely speak. He's not going to make it on his own, and he's not going to go back to recovery until he's ready. It's the easiest, clearest solution to what is wrong with his life and with our relationship, and he won't take it. He knows the answer, and he won't do the work. It's the most frustrating thing I've ever experienced.

I really thought it was going to work this time.

I am going to meet with our marriage counselor individually next week to talk about setting boundaries around recovery. I need these boundaries to be able to live with him, but I am not able to set them. It doesn't feel safe when my husband isn't present. When we go to marriage counseling together, I have a hard time expressing my feelings and admitting my thoughts because I fear my husband's reactions, so it seemed like it might be helpful to go to her one-on-one and put all my issues out. A few days later, my husband and I will go for a joint session and see what happens.

It seems that the lesson God has for me these days is patience and perseverance. I'm restless for a way out of this pain, but no one has a quick one.

Over the last several days, my husband has been asleep for most of the day. It seems to me that he's really depressed, but he's not ready to admit that he's having a problem or to do anything about it. I don't understand how this is ever going to stop.

Faithful.

My husband hasn't been to a meeting in over a week now, and his mental state is showing it. He has been obsessing about how he's pretty sure I'm being unfaithful to him, and he has all kinds of "evidence" that he keeps dragging out in front of me. His evidence includes such tell-tale signs as that I sometimes wear lipstick when I go to work and that people call me on my cell phone amongst various other, more embarrassing assertions.

I have participated in his madness by defending myself. One sure-fire way to get my crazy all riled up is to suggest that I might be a whore. All my favorite ways to hurt come up around sex and sexuality, and I find myself drowning in the quicksand of my past. It's easy to assume that I am an irretrievable whore, sexualized from the beginning. I don't even have to cheat on my husband to be cheating on my husband. Sex is seared into my flesh as sure as a brand.

I know that by defending myself, I begin to make it real...and while I don't want to make it real, I also want to comfort my husband, who is genuinely hurting because he believes that I've not been loyal. It's a sticky place to find myself.

Last night, as he was pawing over move "evidence," I said to him:

I am sorry if anything I have done has made you feel like I might have been unfaithful, but I have been loyal to you. I'm sorry that you're hurting, and it's never my intention to hurt you, but it's not good for me to continue to participate in this with you.

I hope the subject is closed.

I am sad for this man. He is very, very sick, and he's hurting, and so he's hurting me. I want it to stop now, and I am not sure how to stop it. I want out, but I want to leave with some clarity and some grace, and I'm not in a place to be able to leave that way yet.

I Need to Remember:

"Defending ourselves by engaging in arguments with actively drinking or otherwise irrational people is as fruitless as donning armor to protect ourselves from a nuclear explosion."

-Courage to Change, June 3

My Codependent Granny.

I've been missing my Grandma lately.

I think it's Al-Anon. There's a lot of adult children of alcoholics, which makes me think of my father, who is an adult child of an alcoholic himself. I'd never thought of how the family disease of addiction or alcoholism had run through the generations on my side of our family, as my husband's family is so spectacularly loud with addiction that it kind of drowns out the dull rumbling in my own.

My father's mother, who passed away a few years ago, was always my favorite Grandma. She was fun and funny, sweet and kind of sassy, and she thought I was the bee's knees.

It occurred to me last night that she is one of us. She never found her way to Al-Anon, but she lived with an active alcoholic for most of her adult life. My grandfather began drinking after he returned from World War II, and he died when I was a toddler from the effects of his disease. My father has a few particularly frightening stories of his father's alcoholic behavior.

I don't remember much of my grandfather. I do remember that he was a sweet man, if somewhat withdrawn. He never came to dinner when we went out to eat together. Looking back at this behavior through the lens of my own experience, I realize that he probably stayed home to drink alone. My father had refused to be around him with me if he was drinking, and he hid it well in my presence. I'm sure he took some relief in the absence of the family, but I remember as a little girl thinking that it was sad when he wouldn't come to dinner with the rest of us.

I was in my car today, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness for my grandmother. Neither of my grandparents ever found recovery, and it occurred to me that my grandmother and I have something in common. She could have been a great friend to me at this point in my life, and I might have brought her some ideas about a better way to live.