No Trapdoor.

I got home tonight, happy to find my husband here. I wasn't sure if he'd be at my house or not, but I thought he might. I sped all the way home, like I used to, excited to be close to him.

I saw him peek out the window, and then he got up and left, quickly. His movements made my heart skip a beat. I knew it couldn't be good. I came inside the house, and he was in the bathroom. He'd turned the exhaust fan on. It smelled like pot in the room.

I asked him if he'd been smoking. He said, "No." He asked me to come closer to him. I did. I smelled smoke on his breath. I asked him again if he'd been smoking, and he said, "No." I told him he smelled like smoke, and it smelled like smoke in my house. He then said that he'd smoked some pot a few hours earlier, but that he'd gone outside to do it. I told him it was probably best for him to leave, and he freaked out briefly, and then regained his composure.

As he was leaving, he pulled a bowl out of the drawer where he used to keep his underwear. "You probably smelled this," he explained.

"I don't know why I thought this was possible," he said.

I don't know why I thought it was possible, either.

He has a place he can go if he wants to be high. He can do that at his parents' house as much as he wants. I don't want drugs in my life, and I don't want the chaos that comes with him using around me.

I am sad that the escape latch I'd imagined isn't actually there. It's another door into the same room.

A Date with my Husband.

My husband took me out to the movies last night. He bought both of our tickets, which was nice, and he even snuck me in an ice cream sundae. We held hands through the movie. When the movie was over, we kissed each other goodnight. I went home. He went to his parents' house.

I guess this is working? At least for now?

A Visit.

My husband stopped by the house this morning. I am not sure why he was here other than that he was testing my tolerance for him to be here. I am tolerant of him being here. I would like for us to be able to see each other sometimes.

It was wonderful to see him, and it was hard to see him. It was kind of like getting water after a long run. It felt good to hear his voice, to feel his arms around me. It was hard for him to leave. It's hard to remember how we can laugh together and to know that it's not like that when he's here all the time.

There are a lot of interesting things I'm observing in myself. His parents are smoking crack. I am sorry that he is living with people who are smoking crack. That's clearly not a good environment for him. It's sad to me that he's in a bad place and that his parents are in a bad place. It's sad, but I don't feel like it has anything to do with me. They are sick people living in their sickness. They are people who I love, and I wish that they could get well. It is clear that they aren't well, however, and that they will make me sick if I go around them.

I don't know when this happened, this unveiling in my mind.

I know, though, that I had to go through everything I went through to be able to see these things. I had to try to bend and stretch and fold my life all up around the edges of my husband's addiction. I wouldn't have been able to leave him alone if I thought that there was any other way. If I'd asked him to leave one minute before I did, it wouldn't have stuck.

I shouldn't talk about it sticking yet. I might leave in five minutes to go pick him up and bring him home. The physical pull is that strong...I know it's not healthy, but it's what I want.

Today, though, I've gotten a lot of work done, and I'm pleased with my quiet house, my steady work schedule, and my silly dogs. I'm happy to have had a moment with my husband this morning, and I'm also happy to have had a day to myself. I know I need some more time to get clear about what's important to me.

I also know that even if I cave and let him come back home, I'll be better able to deal with his mess for having had a break. I am already having a clearer understanding of how he's struggling with this little bit of distance.

I am learning, too, that this is possible. Living apart is possible. Living apart in a permanent, separate way seems still way too big to consider, but having some wide spaces between us is real, achievable, and healthy.

I am learning that when I'm hurting, it's often out of fear. I'm afraid for my husband's safety and sanity. I am learning that when I'm afraid for him, I can pray that he will find his way.

Home Again.

My husband is home. I'm happy he's here with me.

I went to visit him a few nights ago, and we were both so astonishingly sane. He said he wanted to come home, and I said I wanted him to come home, but that I wasn't yet clear on what I needed to be comfortable with him living with me yet. He understood, and he said for me to let him know when it became clearer. He told me he'd do whatever it took.

I know there's a difference in being willing to say that he'll do whatever it takes and actually doing whatever it takes, but I was impressed with his lack of anger and his acceptance of what a hard time I'd been having. I think we both got a lot of clarity from our time apart, and I've worked out the boundaries that I can accept for now.

He acknowledged that he'd fallen into a rut that wasn't working for him as much as it wasn't working for me. His willingness to admit his problems is progress.

When I came home from work today, he asked me to come outside with him. He walked me to our trash can, and he showed me a bottle he'd been using as a water bong in the bottom of the can. He said he'd gotten rid of everything, and that he agrees to keep all drugs out of the house.

It was a small gesture. I might wake up in the morning and find a thousand more homemade water bongs tucked away in every corner, but it was nice of him to make a gesture. He empathized with me, and it means a lot to be heard.

And I'm happy with his body next to mine in bed. It's what I want. I'm in love with that man still, and while I found some peace in his absence, I'm not ready to cut him loose.