Cocaine Widow

I am somewhat surprised by the fact that nothing surprises me anymore. I thought I was doing a good thing, taking as little money from my husband as possible, so he could save up and get away from his alcoholic brother. Of course, now I find out that instead of helping my husband out, my brother-in-law is charging him rent. To sleep on the floor. To get his act together. That’s our family for you.

Brother helping brother. Greedy asshole, just like his mother.

As far as I see it, that is money my son and I could be using to pay the avalanche of bills that find their way to my mailbox everyday, most of them with my husband’s name on them. Yes, I could stop paying them, and I will. But not just yet.

I decided maybe I’ll just let my husband come home. He can have the house, the yard that no one wants to cut and the demanding cats that go in it. I spoke to a real estate agent and am applying for a loan. I was shocked at how good my credit was… and that it actually may be possible to do.

I may have to cut down on my living space, but I am going to try and buy a house for me and my son. If my husband, who makes more money than I do and has a more steady work history, can’t do it, then I will. It won’t be the first time I’ve rolled up my sleeves and said, “Screw it. I’ll take care of it.” And it probably won’t be the last. I have to take care of business. I have a son to raise. I have a purpose.

Sometimes I am thankful that my husband and his idiot brother keep me so angry. It clouds out the sadness… It gives me reason not to miss the man I married, who by all accounts, is gone, daddy, gone. I don’t detect a trace of him. It also keeps me from letting the fear set in. The fear is always close… the fear of being alone, of being caught off guard, of not having anyone to turn to, even if it’s just to say, “Can you believe that? I just might buy my own house!”

He asked me again today.

After our last conversation, and his decision to come and get the rest of his things, I guess for some reason, he still had to hear it one more time. Should he actually pick up his stuff?

In an alcholic rage, his brother threw out some false accusations and kicked him out. He was going to have to swallow the last of his pride and stay with is parents until he can get his own place.

Or couldn’t he just come home?

It’s still sinking in, I suppose.

If only I could forget. Or act like nothing happened. Or follow my mother-in-law’s insane advice and just ignore it, put up with it, drop it, and just keep my mouth shut.

Only God knows how hard it was for me to tell him, yes, come get it. I didn’t say it, but I thought, come get it for now, anyway. Some small part of my heart still has hope that one day he might return to the man I knew. Regardless of my heartbreak and anger, the resentment my son has and all the things he has done, he is still my husband. He is also a person with feelings, with regrets, and who is paying a harsh price for pain he caused us. I know he’s been clean awhile, now. And I guess that’s why he is starting to act as if he’s waking up from a bad dream, only to find it a reality.

It is hard to watch him lose everything he worked for. His home. His studio. Me, I think. Our pets. All our dreams. Our plans. Our future. Some of which have lost all sentimental meaning to me. Most of all, it’s hard to watch the distance growing between him and our son. Somehow, I feel like the asshole. I feel guilty … as if I could have done something different. I feel like I am taking it all away from him. But I know I didn’t.

He gave it up.

I don’t even know exactly when my husband moved out. Six weeks ago, or maybe longer. The time since he’s been back from Ohio has been broken up by frequent binges, hotel stays, and finally, moving in with his brother. The countless chances I gave him were all wasted, answered with empty promises and lies.

I still love the man I married. The problem is, I don’t know where he went. What changed him into someone I don’t know? A love affair with cocaine.

Now it seems that he has been clean over the usual week or so. And his brain is waking up. Weeks ago we discussed the end of our marriage. Last night he called me wanting to come home. He is realizing with cruel clarity that our home is no longer his home. People who have never been in my shoes might criticize me, saying that I should stick it out, stand by my man, be more understanding, be kinder to him, and most of all, be quiet.

But I want to be happy.

The very thought of him coming home puts a bigger knot in my stomach than the thought of going broke, being alone, or losing what little I have left. The other night when I told him I found someone else, I didn’t do it to hurt him. I wanted to get the point across — that I have moved on. That I am not going back, and he isn’t going to change my mind. The man I married would know how to make things right. This guy doesn’t really have any idea.

This makes me wonder about two things: my husband’s recovery from his addiction, and my recovery from his addiction. Because his drug of choice didn’t just fry his brain and drain our bank account, it slowly killed my love for him, along with my feelings of security, contentment and trust. Now that I am on my own, I cannot seem to erase doubts and suspicions about things that I once took for granted. I still don’t actually trust him, although I see small signs that he is trying to accept what he has done. I am angry that all the love and attention I put into our marriage just seemed to evaporate into thin air.

My new relationship may work out and it may not. But I feel I have already set myself up for heartbreak… being so damned lonely and not guarding my heart carefully enough. Rational thought tells me to go slow, but my emotions are raw and intense, so I am walking a thin line. I was starving for affection, and didn’t realize it until I found it. But I tell myself I can’t let myself fall in love. I can’t trust another person. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I tell myself that I don’t care. But I do, I can’t lie. I’d rather take a chance on getting hurt than feel nothing at all. After all the pain I have been through, it feels good think someone might find something special about me. That I can make someone happy. That I still have the capacity to feel giddy and overwhelmed. That maybe, somehow, I might find some joy in my life. 

I can only hope the same for the man I married.

In some respects tonight was the worst night of my life. I had been looking for my husband all day, afraid that the paycheck he didn’t deposit to the bank yesterday had somehow made it up his nose, while I have bills to pay. I finally found him at his brother’s, with his phone off. I took what I needed and tried to leave, which turned into a scene, followed by numerous calls to my cell.

After thinking about what I wanted to say, I answered. I told him, like many times before. It’s over. I’m done. I don’t want to be married anymore. It won’t change. I can’t do it. I can’t go back. And then, the words I didn’t want to say came out, “I found someone else.”

I don’t know when it actually sunk in, but I heard a crack of emotion in my husband’s voice, finally realizing  he wasn’t going to talk his way back home… that this was for real. It was like someone had died. He told me he had lost the best friend he ever had, and I listened silently as he blamed himself. I felt the same regret and sadness he did that it was all lost somehow.

But it was with great pain that I watched my once strong and talented love crumble and lose his way in the mental warfare of cocaine addiction. I witnessed things I wished I hadn’t, and I also let it take a toll on me. I have seen the effects of his addiction on my son, which basically means he has lost his father. His birthday came and went with an awkward visit from my husband, But I still worry about him. I loved him so much once. I never doubted him. And how that trust had to be stolen from me by drugs I will never understand.

Tonight, like many times before, my husband begged for another chance. Promised to change everything about himself… something that, if it is possible, can’t be done overnight. He needs to get better. He told me he would get us through until September, when I can get health insurance from my employer. After that, he said, he didn’t know. He said he can’t take losing us. He said he wants to get away. But he also wants to get himself together. Whatever that means, I hope he can do it someday soon, and not miss out on too much of our son’s life.

He told me I deserve better. I cried. He said to find happiness. He told me to take care of our son, and that he always loved me. It was a rough way to say goodbye. But is there ever an easy way?