Quit Drinking Together

I’ve mentioned the struggle of living with a drinker. After conquering the addiction of alcohol myself, I almost assumed that my husband would just “follow suit” and quit, too. The thing was, in the beginning, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that I was going to quit for real. After hitting that breaking point that I did, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I did know, is I was terrified. I was so scared of getting drunk and smoking again and even more so, afraid of getting drunk and mean and fighting again. Waking up every day and feeling like a still half-boozed zombie had taken it’s toll and my ultimate fear was that I would be a sad unhappy waste-of-space forever. It was pure depression. The last few weeks of my drinking, things were worse for me emotionally and mentally than ever before. Every day I was hung-over, every day I felt hopeless, and every day I was confused and sad about it. At some point towards the end of drinking alcohol, I started doing something I’d never really done before. I started pleading, to God, on paper. The first few days it would be short and sweet.

“I want to find peace in this life. Simplicity. Love from my husband. Sobriety.”

“I pray – or at least think – how much I want change. Good, beautiful, change. I need something so important to happen.”

I don’t know, if when I first started writing these little bits here and there, if it felt like I had an audience. I can’t put my finger on it, but I kind of sounded like I was masking the situation, as if someone might find and read them, or sadly, like I was lying to myself about how bad things really were. Reading back, they slowly started changing.

“I have awful anxiety and feel sick so my stomach. Jesus Christ, our Lord, please help me thru this. Save me.”

Now, just to clear up something about myself and my faith, I’m still very much learning about it all and sorting out all the feelings and beliefs that I have when reading and researching the Bible. (Which I’m doing for the very first time in my life since I’ve gotten sober.) What I’m getting at – is I would never just write to “Jesus Christ”. On occasion, I would chat with God. Jesus, however, very rarely. For me, this just expresses how much trouble I was really in. And my heart clearly knew it.

“Was a long day yesterday. Riddled with shame and regret. Filled with anxiety. I want to let it go – and I will. Who am I?”

They get a bit more sad from here. Another part of me that I’d like to keep to myself.

I don’t know if writing my cries out on paper woke something up inside of me, I don’t know if God and Jesus intervened and saved me. I just don’t know. What I do know is that something about it worked. I also know that having it now to look back on, is just as important as getting it out at the time. Remembering the hurt I was feeling and begging for help reminds me of how lucky and grateful I am today for having gotten through that. Makes me take note of how happy and free I am now. It could have all ended so horribly different.

When I think about my husband and his struggle he’s still got in his pocket, I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should start writing about him, specifically? I do not handle it well, and I do not treat him kind when he drinks. I try to remind myself of what it was like and how insanely difficult it was to over-come. How I put alcohol before everything and everyone else and I didn’t care who knew it. But now that I’m here, sober, I just want the alcohol to disappear forever. For everyone. I don’t want it to hurt one more person. Especially not those I love so dearly.

How can I be more understanding of him and less angry that alcohol still has it’s crummy little hands wrapped around my man? I think I’ll ask Jesus . . .