Ache.

I am feeling awfully emptied out in so many ways. I'm tired. I'm overwrought. I miss my husband. I'm afraid.

I am angry. He's sucked me dry, and now he's shoving me off. I spoke with him briefly last night. I'm not sure why I opened that door. He talked about what it's going to be like in his next relationship and how he can't do anything to please me. Nothing's ever good enough.

It frustrates the hell out of me. No, it's not ever good enough for you to be high and a leach, but I'm pretty sure that it's not going to be good enough anywhere he takes that behavior. He responds to me as if I'm some kind of a gold digger, which is absolutely maddening. In his mind, he can either be clean and unemployed or using and working...and in his mind, the money he makes for working is his reward that should have nothing to do with bills that need to be paid.

I want the sick stuff inside of me that still loves him to get out of me. It's like poison in my blood, and I want it out. I don't want to feel the need to be close to him.

I'm on the ninth step, and I'd planned to make amends with him this time. Last time, I'd committed myself to making a living amends and to stop enabling. I've done that part well, but there's more I'd like to make right with him...like my inability to let him go...my obsessive clinging to the fantasy of the man who I wish he would be. I'm recognizing, though, that he's not ready to hear it, and I'm not ready to say it. Every bit of me aches for him, and I can't let go of the outcome. I'm still composing my amends as if it's going to save my marriage, and that's not the right way to go about it. I've got to sit on this one for a while.

Bread at the Hardware Store.

"Come here," he said. I came. He pulled me into his lap.

"I'm sorry about the other day, in the morning. I shouldn't talk to you like that. I don't want to talk to you like that."

"It's ok," I said.

"It's not. I know you have to set stuff like that up so you don't get hurt. I understand, it just hurts my feelings when I feel like you don't care."

"I do care, and I don't want to hurt your feelings. I'm sorry when I hurt you."

"I know. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sometimes, instead of my crazy bastard husband, I get my dream husband. He's present, and he understands how hard it is to live with him. We are able to empathize with each other.

At a meeting a few weeks ago, a woman said that she is learning in her recovery that trying to get support, love, nurturing from her addicted partner is kind of like trying to get bread from the hardware store. She knows that the hardware store won't carry bread, but sometimes, she really wants bread from there. In recovery, she is learning to go to appropriate places to get her bread...like the grocery store of friends in recovery or supportive family members. Or on good days, she can even make her own bread.

I really liked the metaphor, but there's a part of it that doesn't quite work. Sometimes, there IS bread at the hardware store. Most of the time, it's not there, but when it is, it's the best bread ever. It keeps me coming back.

Amendment To My Constitution.

Part of Step 9 for me has been making amends to myself. I wrote a letter to me, and I'm putting it up here to finish it:

Dear Me,

I want to make amends with you for my reckless behavior. I have been thoughtless, careless, and lacked concern for your safety and well being. I have neglected your needs, putting the needs of anyone and everyone else in my life before yours.

I was hurting for many years, and instead of dealing with that hurt I acted out against your best interests in my misguided attempts to process my pain. I put you in dangerous, complicated situations, did destructive things to your body, and ignored your need to feed your spirit.

I sincerely want to change my behavior towards you from now on. I want to take better care of you in the future. I want to nurture you, help you to grow and thrive. You are my best thing, and I hope to keep that idea in the forefront of my mind for the rest of my life.

Love, love, love,

Me.