Yep, I'm back. Just like a bad penny. Just like the disease of alcoholism for many of us.
My last entry was nearly 2 years ago. Since then, Al's been to detox (2x), rehab (28 days, in-patient), and had almost of year of wonderful, glorious sobriety (at least it was wonderful, glorious to me. To him? Not so much.) He also had a marvelous sponsor.
Then it started again. The drinking. The lies. The cover-ups.
And the separation. That's only a couple days old.
At first, I was very comfortable with the decision. Now, thinking about it brings me to tears. I don't know if I'm making the right decision.
What might happen? Before I can speculate, I need to tell you what has happened. Al was sober from around August 1, 2015 until (I think) June-ish, 2016. He started drinking, at times heavily, would quit (or try to) for awhile, then back again drinking.
In the meantime, I started a new phase of my career, leaving the business (for the most part) that we'd spent the past 3.5 years building. That was planned: get the business going, then I'd go back to my other career.
Last week, after I discovered that he had been drinking, he admitted it. Then he dropped the bombshell: He would continue to drink, he could be a responsible drinker, and all would be good.
Not.
I'm sick and devastated.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Back at it
About 4 years ago, I started this blog. A few short months later, I dropped it. Not intentionally, I guess I just didn't need it for me at that point.
I'm now needing to write again. I've re-read my last posts from several years ago, and all of them ring true.
A brief update: Al & I did get back together, and ended up moving back to my family home to start a new business. A shrink would have a field day analyzing those decisions of mine, and complicity in decisions of Al & me together. I'll try to address that in another post.
But we've been back here for 2 years, opened the business (fairly successfully), but the sobriety thing just hasn't stuck.
I have come to realize - with the help of a very wise friend - that Al doesn't want to stop drinking. Now I'm facing, yet again, how to handle that.
It's my birthday, Al's still sleeping (at 8:45 a.m.), and I'm sad.
It's time for me to get back to basics. Like writing.
I'm now needing to write again. I've re-read my last posts from several years ago, and all of them ring true.
A brief update: Al & I did get back together, and ended up moving back to my family home to start a new business. A shrink would have a field day analyzing those decisions of mine, and complicity in decisions of Al & me together. I'll try to address that in another post.
But we've been back here for 2 years, opened the business (fairly successfully), but the sobriety thing just hasn't stuck.
I have come to realize - with the help of a very wise friend - that Al doesn't want to stop drinking. Now I'm facing, yet again, how to handle that.
It's my birthday, Al's still sleeping (at 8:45 a.m.), and I'm sad.
It's time for me to get back to basics. Like writing.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Hopefulness
Tonight's Al-Anon meeting subject was boundaries - and some of our readings distinguished between boundaries and walls. It's remarkable how so often I feel as though a meeting is directed at me - that somehow the group conscience that figures prominently in our 2nd Tradition* knew what I needed on a given evening.
So the meeting topic meshed remarkably well with my day yesterday - a day that I spent with Al. We had a nice, peaceful, fun day going to a local festival. We enjoyed the same musical acts, and were frustrated by the same inane and rude behaviour of some of our fellow humans. We talked about a lot, and we talked about a little. Digestible doses of each.
At the end of the day - and as I wrote to Al this morning - I felt more hopeful than I had in six months about our future. Much of the hope sprang from the lovely day; much of it sprang from Al's approximately one month of sobriety, and his commitment to continuing it.
Back to tonight. We spoke of, and read about, boundaries. It made me think about whether at times in my relationship with Al and with others I'd been too inclined to set up walls rather than boundaries. Walls are rigid; boundaries are flexible. Doors are open with boundaries - with walls, not so much. As I read and meet about, and absorb more Al-Anon principles. I look back and wonder what actions I've taken that perhaps were ill advised; what rules I've made that perhaps aren't helpful, either to Al or to me.
I need to think more about whether the rules I impose on myself and on others are more in the wall category, or in the boundary category. My guess is that it's the former, but with seeing the issue, my hope is that my rules will convert themselves.
In the meantime, I'm pleased about the sense of hopefulness that I'm experiencing now, and pray that it will continue.
*The 2nd Tradition holds:
So the meeting topic meshed remarkably well with my day yesterday - a day that I spent with Al. We had a nice, peaceful, fun day going to a local festival. We enjoyed the same musical acts, and were frustrated by the same inane and rude behaviour of some of our fellow humans. We talked about a lot, and we talked about a little. Digestible doses of each.
At the end of the day - and as I wrote to Al this morning - I felt more hopeful than I had in six months about our future. Much of the hope sprang from the lovely day; much of it sprang from Al's approximately one month of sobriety, and his commitment to continuing it.
Back to tonight. We spoke of, and read about, boundaries. It made me think about whether at times in my relationship with Al and with others I'd been too inclined to set up walls rather than boundaries. Walls are rigid; boundaries are flexible. Doors are open with boundaries - with walls, not so much. As I read and meet about, and absorb more Al-Anon principles. I look back and wonder what actions I've taken that perhaps were ill advised; what rules I've made that perhaps aren't helpful, either to Al or to me.
I need to think more about whether the rules I impose on myself and on others are more in the wall category, or in the boundary category. My guess is that it's the former, but with seeing the issue, my hope is that my rules will convert themselves.
In the meantime, I'm pleased about the sense of hopefulness that I'm experiencing now, and pray that it will continue.
*The 2nd Tradition holds:
For our group purpose there is but one authority—a loving God as [s]he may express him[her]self in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants—they do not govern.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Winehouse
Yes, it's the obligatory Winehouse post. But I'll let someone else do the talking.
I'm no Russell Brand fan. I don't appreciate his humour, his actions. But my opinion of him went up 100-fold with his posting about his friend, Amy Winehouse. Here are the first two paragraphs:
I'm no Russell Brand fan. I don't appreciate his humour, his actions. But my opinion of him went up 100-fold with his posting about his friend, Amy Winehouse. Here are the first two paragraphs:
When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.
Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.He speaks for legions of us.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Shower brilliance
Okay, maybe not brilliance, but I think a good thought.
Yesterday, I met with Al - in fact, we spend the morning together. It was good, although I think we both felt we were walking on thin ice. And, near the end, I fell through it. (Don't I wish this were other than a metaphor! It's sweltering hot here.)
I do love to give advice. I've always been a strong personality, although not necessarily the "fixer" so often attributed to alcoholic family members. But I do have a tendency to take charge, and have to consciously put brakes on myself to prevent myself from taking too much charge in any given situation, be it work, social, family, or other. But what Al-Anon is teaching me (or trying to, at least) is that the alcoholic in our lives has to make decisions for him/herself. This, of course, is the old immovable force (Al) meeting the unstoppable object (me). Example: Al is out of a job. I wonder whether his unemployment is his biggest issue, but it's clearly important to him, so I have some (many!) ideas on how to approach his joblessness. I've given them before. And yesterday, despite Al-Anon (in fact, prefaced with the "I know I shouldn't give you advice, but . . . .") I gave him employment advice. Non-critically (at least I don't think I was critical), but he immediately picked up on it, and reminded me I shouldn't be doing it. He was right.
But . . . I'm a good advice giver. I've got good ideas, and my research skills are solid. I do think I could help him. If only he'd listen to me. The Al-Anon conundrum: I must learn to keep my mouth shut, even though I think that opening it would help us both.
This morning - in the shower, of course, where I do my best thinking - I thought of a possible solution to this issue. Rather than telling Al what I think he should be doing, I need to ask Al if he'd like my assistance in the various areas that I think I might be helpful. And, dammit, I have to listen to and honor his response, regardless of what that might be.
I'm going to try to introduce this approach into our relationship. I know I'll fall off from time to time - decades of being bossy (indeed, even making a career of it!) don't go away overnight. But oftentimes acknowledgement and recognition of a problem is the first step to solving it.
Let's hope it works. Let's hope I can work it.
Yesterday, I met with Al - in fact, we spend the morning together. It was good, although I think we both felt we were walking on thin ice. And, near the end, I fell through it. (Don't I wish this were other than a metaphor! It's sweltering hot here.)
I do love to give advice. I've always been a strong personality, although not necessarily the "fixer" so often attributed to alcoholic family members. But I do have a tendency to take charge, and have to consciously put brakes on myself to prevent myself from taking too much charge in any given situation, be it work, social, family, or other. But what Al-Anon is teaching me (or trying to, at least) is that the alcoholic in our lives has to make decisions for him/herself. This, of course, is the old immovable force (Al) meeting the unstoppable object (me). Example: Al is out of a job. I wonder whether his unemployment is his biggest issue, but it's clearly important to him, so I have some (many!) ideas on how to approach his joblessness. I've given them before. And yesterday, despite Al-Anon (in fact, prefaced with the "I know I shouldn't give you advice, but . . . .") I gave him employment advice. Non-critically (at least I don't think I was critical), but he immediately picked up on it, and reminded me I shouldn't be doing it. He was right.
But . . . I'm a good advice giver. I've got good ideas, and my research skills are solid. I do think I could help him. If only he'd listen to me. The Al-Anon conundrum: I must learn to keep my mouth shut, even though I think that opening it would help us both.
This morning - in the shower, of course, where I do my best thinking - I thought of a possible solution to this issue. Rather than telling Al what I think he should be doing, I need to ask Al if he'd like my assistance in the various areas that I think I might be helpful. And, dammit, I have to listen to and honor his response, regardless of what that might be.
I'm going to try to introduce this approach into our relationship. I know I'll fall off from time to time - decades of being bossy (indeed, even making a career of it!) don't go away overnight. But oftentimes acknowledgement and recognition of a problem is the first step to solving it.
Let's hope it works. Let's hope I can work it.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Positive 3
Both last evening, while enjoying a beverage with co-workers, and today, while shopping at a used-clothing store (a favorite activity), I heard Moondance by Van Morrison. Both times my feet started moving my body backwards. You see, I think Moondance is wonderful song by which to Foxtrot.
I've mentioned that Al is kind. At times he's also thoughtful, as well.
About 10 years ago, for my birthday, Al surprised me - and I mean really surprised me - with dance lessons at Arthur Murray. I think it may have been the best surprise he's ever given me. We had several lessons - 6? 10? - but didn't buy the $3,995 special that they tried so desperately to sell after those initial lessons. Although we declined (wisely) to invest our savings into more lessons, I've never regretted the lessons that we took.
Were we talented? Nope. But I thoroughly enjoyed it - enough that a couple of times we went to dances on Saturday nights at rather odd clubs where Al & I were among the youngest, if not the youngest, in attendance. I think that at least at first, Al enjoyed it too. We learned very basic Foxtrot, Rhumba, Tango, Meringue, Cha-cha, Waltz. We got to point that our dance partnership would impress non-dancers, for example at our company holiday party. We followed our lessons briefly with lessons at a local community college, but within a year or 2, our dancing had dropped by the wayside. My subsequent broken leg didn't help.
Given the opportunity, it's something I'd very much like to re-start, even with my gimpy leg.
How I pray that someday Al and I can recapture what was so good about us as a team - and begin to tackle new challenges! In the meantime, Moondance is resonating through my head, bringing back wonderful memories.
I've mentioned that Al is kind. At times he's also thoughtful, as well.
About 10 years ago, for my birthday, Al surprised me - and I mean really surprised me - with dance lessons at Arthur Murray. I think it may have been the best surprise he's ever given me. We had several lessons - 6? 10? - but didn't buy the $3,995 special that they tried so desperately to sell after those initial lessons. Although we declined (wisely) to invest our savings into more lessons, I've never regretted the lessons that we took.
Were we talented? Nope. But I thoroughly enjoyed it - enough that a couple of times we went to dances on Saturday nights at rather odd clubs where Al & I were among the youngest, if not the youngest, in attendance. I think that at least at first, Al enjoyed it too. We learned very basic Foxtrot, Rhumba, Tango, Meringue, Cha-cha, Waltz. We got to point that our dance partnership would impress non-dancers, for example at our company holiday party. We followed our lessons briefly with lessons at a local community college, but within a year or 2, our dancing had dropped by the wayside. My subsequent broken leg didn't help.
Given the opportunity, it's something I'd very much like to re-start, even with my gimpy leg.
How I pray that someday Al and I can recapture what was so good about us as a team - and begin to tackle new challenges! In the meantime, Moondance is resonating through my head, bringing back wonderful memories.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
He loves me, he loves me not.
Remember that childhood (girlhood might be more appropriate) game where we'd take a flower with petals, and one-by-one pick them off, with each petal alternating "he loves me" "he loves me not"? That's how I'm feeling about my relationship with Al right now.
Sometimes when I see him, I get a sense that, amidst all the other noise that's going on in his head, he still cares about me. Othertimes, it seems that he can't wait to have me out of his sight. That hurts.
Today I picked up our cat from the house. I told him when I would be arriving, and he told me he'd have her in her carrier when I arrived. I thought that odd, as she is quite complaining when in her carrier. I honestly thought that he'd reconsider so we'd have a little time to chat when I got there. It wasn't to be.
I drove the 30 minutes, knocked on the door, and I bet I wasn't in the house for 30 seconds. It was pretty clear he could not wait until I left. I said something about talking, and he declined. I wonder if he saw my eyes well up when I was leaving.
And I wonder if he has any idea of the effect it has on me - whether it be a 30-second visit (wedged between 30-minute drives), or a one-line response to an e-mail, or no communication unless I initiate it.
I wish I had an explanation. Is it him, or is it me? Does his anger toward me prohibit him from talking with me? Is he in such a dark place that he's incapable of any kind of relationship, with me, a friend, or anyone? Does he want to make our separation permanent, and doesn't have the courage to tell me? Does he fear that I'm going to give him advice? The questions, the questions. With no answers.
I need to return to the basics: I am powerless over alcohol, and its effects. I can't control him, but I can control myself.
It still hurts, though.
Sometimes when I see him, I get a sense that, amidst all the other noise that's going on in his head, he still cares about me. Othertimes, it seems that he can't wait to have me out of his sight. That hurts.
Today I picked up our cat from the house. I told him when I would be arriving, and he told me he'd have her in her carrier when I arrived. I thought that odd, as she is quite complaining when in her carrier. I honestly thought that he'd reconsider so we'd have a little time to chat when I got there. It wasn't to be.
I drove the 30 minutes, knocked on the door, and I bet I wasn't in the house for 30 seconds. It was pretty clear he could not wait until I left. I said something about talking, and he declined. I wonder if he saw my eyes well up when I was leaving.
And I wonder if he has any idea of the effect it has on me - whether it be a 30-second visit (wedged between 30-minute drives), or a one-line response to an e-mail, or no communication unless I initiate it.
I wish I had an explanation. Is it him, or is it me? Does his anger toward me prohibit him from talking with me? Is he in such a dark place that he's incapable of any kind of relationship, with me, a friend, or anyone? Does he want to make our separation permanent, and doesn't have the courage to tell me? Does he fear that I'm going to give him advice? The questions, the questions. With no answers.
I need to return to the basics: I am powerless over alcohol, and its effects. I can't control him, but I can control myself.
It still hurts, though.
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