It must be hell. Really, it must be. To live with an addict. To love an addict. To rationalize with an addict. To sometimes have no other choice than to defend an addict. To fully understand what it is like to love AND hate somebody at the same time. To be terrified of your husband, even when the fear is not of physical pain but staggering amounts of emotional and mental anguish. To be the addict’s spouse.
It must be hell.
In a world without the prospect of perfection, my wife is just so, so damn good at everything a wife and mother is supposed to be – so close to perfection that she’s forcing the judges to reconsider the qualifications for earning the title of Perfect Wife – and she fell in love with a liar, a manipulator, an idiot, a disgrace, a drunk. She had no idea she was marrying all of that. And somehow, she’s still here on the other side. I cannot begin to express my gratefulness for that, but I also cannot begin to express how undeserved it is.
When I met my wife, she was going through a divorce and I was a five year widower, just dating here and there with no real interest in anything too serious because, as I told people, all thirtysomething women just wanted to get married and have kids immediately because their clock was ticking. I might have dated a couple of women that met that description, but mostly it was me. I was in love with alcohol and tobacco. I had no other place in my life for a girlfriend.
But then a good friend of mine set me up with my soon-to-be wife. Blind date. I saw a picture, but it was mostly blind. In truth, she actually asked about ME because she knew about me through some acquaintances or family or something and knew I was single.
Well, I agreed to the date but I almost immediately tried to think of any reason in the world to cancel because every first date just scared the hell out of me. I also knew I couldn’t drink as much as I wanted if I was on a date. That’s an absolutely true story. It happened on every first date. Or fourth date. I had to make sure I had enough time to get back home so I could get at least six or eight beers and two dips in before bed. It’s just sickening now to even say that.
The night I met her, though, I might as well have been a ribeye forgotten on the grill because I was DONE. I always thought those people that talk about love at first sight were full of shit, but there is absolutely something to it. Maybe it was mostly physical that first night because I wanted to do naughty things as soon as I laid my eyes on her. And that only got worse throughout the night as I got to know her and smell her and touch her and gradually get close enough that we were making out by the end of the night.
It was supposed to be just a goodbye kiss, but it lingered for about an hour. And kissing was it. It was enough. I loved every minute of it. I even managed to stop at one point and say, “I just want to make it clear that I’m not sleeping with you.” She looked at me like I’d just spit snot in her mouth and said, “Duh shit, moron. I didn’t ask.” (It might not have been those exact words, but it was close.) But then we kept kissing, so I was only mildly embarrassed. And she still brings it up to this day, so I quite literally will never live that down. But I knew that night that I was done looking for my wife. I was in love, lust, and a fair amount of pain by the time I left to go home. Where I drank, naturally.
We were married 14 months later. And even though we lived together for the last three or four months of our engagement, she had no idea what or who she was marrying.
You don’t expect your future husband to be an addict. You just don’t. How in the world could anybody expect the man they love – the man they want to spend the rest of their life with – to hide beer in their grandmother’s China cabinet and cans of Kodiak Wintergreen snuff in so many different places that the people who bought our first house are probably still finding them? Again, it’s sickening to even admit this. But I get to do that now. I’m not hiding from it anymore. It’s freeing. It’s healing.
I don’t really know when she began to think I drank too much. I blame addict brain for that one. I can’t really even remember how I proposed, so it’s not that surprising that I can’t remember when she first started making suggestions that I drank too much.
The hiding was the first clue. No doubt about that. Normal people do not drink ten to fifteen beers every night. And I mean EVERY night. She probably had no idea that it was that much, but she started figuring out that I was absolutely hiding something and lying about it. The great thing (and the scary thing) about alcohol is that once it’s on your breath, it stays there for a while. So while I was “working in the garage having a couple of beers,” she didn’t know about the eight beers I’d drunk while “sipping” the “couple of beers” and hid the empty cans or bottles under the freaking bushes in the front yard.
Again, not normal. I essentially tricked this amazing woman into marrying a raging alcoholic. Why the hell would any sane person do that to someone they love? It’s an unanswerable question. I can give you a lot of excuses, but that’s all they are. Want to hear some of the excuses anyway? I actually said these things to myself when rationalizing my desire to hide this gigantic secret from this stunning woman.
- “It’ll be okay. I’m going to quit soon.”
- “I’m not hurting anybody. I mean, I’m not driving.”
- “By the time she wants to have kids, I’ll cut back.”
- “Men drink. That’s what we do. She’s just being a nagging bitch.”
You get the idea, right? These are the stupid, irrational thoughts that go through our minds when the rationalization for why we keep lying to this person we love is necessary to nullify the guilt. It’s insanity. But when it’s happening, we actually believe ourselves!! We actually think we have it all worked out and have a real plan for when we will quit or “cut back.” That’s even more insanity!!
Addicts don’t do moderation. We don’t live balanced lives. It’s an all-in, full bore, mental and physical obsession with alcohol (and in my case, tobacco, too.) It’s more important than your family, your job, your health, your friends, everything. It is your life.
That’s why it must be hell. Since I got sober fifteen months ago, I’ve tried to put myself into my wife’s shoes and wonder how I would react if there was something in her life that was more important than me. I don’t even like it when she talks about old boyfriends or when she says Channing Tatum is dreamy. I mean, he is, but I seriously feel emasculated and unimportant and replaceable. It depresses me. I don’t really have that much in the form of jealousy (I kinda like it when other guys think she’s hot,) but I can absolutely feel depression.
So how must she have felt? Her husband, the man she fell head over heels in love with, held alcohol AND tobacco in higher esteem and on a loftier perch than her. Once again, that is sickening. But I was completely fine with it during my days of active addiction. I could rationalize the hell out of that.
But it must have been hell for her. I spoke a couple of paragraphs ago about the depression I feel when she talks about a former boyfriend. Can you imagine HER depression? She knows how badly I do NOT want to even pretend she had boyfriends (or a husband) before me, and she respects that. She’s okay with our lives just being about us. We have absolutely no need to rehash old relationships. It does us absolutely no good.
But seriously, can you imagine HER depression? An old boyfriend might come up in conversation once every two months. I was essentially flaunting the fact that she came in third on my importance hierarchy every single day. Can you imagine HER depression? Can you imagine how much worse it must have been because she did NOT sign up for that? She had no idea who she was marrying. Addicts are no better than adulterers. We might be worse. We cheat on our spouse every single day. Not a day goes by that our addiction(s) fall to second or third place behind our spouse. It’s just sickening. It’s actually pretty depressing to put all of this down in print.
It’s also freeing. She knows the regret I feel now. She’s even becoming partially sympathetic to it. She knows I have no ability to ever repay her for standing by me through addiction and bearing with me through early sobriety when it’s sometimes worse than active addiction. At least in active addiction, you know what you’re getting every day. A person in early sobriety is pretty mercurial. Like a lit bomb that has no timer. You have no idea what’s about to happen, when it’s going to happen, or the extent of the damage. You just have to stand by in support with a shield of thick skin, unbending love, and a shitload of hope.
And she did that. She was amazing and still is. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t have every right to leave me when she did. She basically had to. I look back and wonder what took her so damn long.
She gave me an ultimatum. Pick her or my addictions. I called her bluff. I chose my addictions. I got home one day and she was gone. Her brother-in-law and a couple of his employees came and helped her get the bed, the dresser, the living room furniture, the kitchen table. She took everything she needed. I got exactly what I deserved. An air mattress and a hi-def glimpse at a man I hated more than any terrorist.
We were back together a couple of weeks later. I begged and pleaded. I also told her I was done. It was another lie. She thought I was sober for about nine months after that. It was probably closer to nine days. I started hiding it again. Most days I drank enough to buzz, to get by. It was always after she went to bed, so my time was limited. I was lucky to drink a six pack and get in one dip most nights. But it was sustaining my addictions.
I don’t recall how it happened, but I remember the exasperation in her face and her words when I told her I wanted the freedom to drink if I promised to do so in moderation. She didn’t know I’d been drinking all along, but I was getting sick of hiding it. It was too stressful (poor baby, I know.) In response to this request, she basically said, “I know I can’t stop you, but if you ever put our children in any danger, or if it has a negative impact on this family, I will kick your ass out and fight for full custody.”
So for the next year or so, I fought that addiction, I fought suicidal thoughts, I fought her, I fought to rationalize my freedom to be a man and drink a beer if I wanted to. I could finally tell I was losing the fight. I had no idea how and no ability to drink in moderation. I’m an alcoholic. It just doesn’t work that way. My wife and I were not happy during this time. Not even close, really. We were just existing. We damn sure weren’t loving each other. She knew I was hiding beer and dip and I knew she was snooping to see if I was hiding it. She found some here and there. We fought about it every time. I didn’t stop hiding it or drinking it. It was no way for either of us to live.
More ultimatums came, but I finally flipped the switch on her. I told her that I knew I was an addict and I knew I had to quit. She just needed to give me some time to come to grips with it. I had no idea how much time that was, but I knew that by admitting I had a problem that I could steal another month or two. I just honestly wasn’t sure I wanted it. I knew I was pretty much done drinking. I could not dislike myself any more than I did. It was over. But just like every other time I promised myself I was quitting, I still wasn’t quitting TODAY.
And what was her response to this? There wasn’t much of one. We were not close at the end. She was so tired of the same old shit at that point that she had almost left or kicked me out a half dozen times. Her life had become a giant shrug where I was concerned.
Well finally the day came. I went to her one last time, after she’d heard the same rationalization about fifty times before, and I said, “Let me drink tonight because my mind’s already made up that I’m going to, and tomorrow, I’m done. Drinking AND dipping. I’m done.”
At that point, she was defeated. She was “done” in a much, much different fashion than the “done” I was the night I met her. On this night, her fight was gone. Completely gone. That’s what I saw anyway. She didn’t say that, but I knew. She had absolutely had enough. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it was basically, “Whatever.” She didn’t believe a damn word I said anymore and had no interest in responding with much care or affection. There was very little of that left anyway.
The next day was May 28, 2017. I’ve been sober and nicotine free ever since. My fight was over at the same time she had lost her ability to fight me. It worked out well in that regard. And every day for the next few months, I fought to win her back and stay sober, and those two fights were not unrelated. I had to have both or else I would have lost both. But for the first time in twenty years, I finally wanted it. I absolutely hated myself at the end. I knew if I was ever going to feel like I deserved her, my family, and a healthy self-esteem, I had to fix me.
It took me twenty years to heed the advice of every recovering addict before me. I had to quit for me. And I finally was. It took a LONG time for my wife to understand what that meant, and even though it was a little tough to accept – that a husband couldn’t, wouldn’t, and shouldn’t quit for his wife or family – she accepts it as necessary now.
I recently told her the story of somebody I know caving and giving up ten years of sobriety. His addiction came back immediately – with the first sip – and progressed until he got caught two years later. It was as simple as him NOT putting his sobriety first. He strayed from AA and stopped doing service work for other recovering alcoholics, he just stopped waking up every morning with anger and gritted teeth and looking at himself in the mirror and saying, “I am NOT f**king drinking today. The bottle does NOT control me anymore.”
It took one drink and it controlled him again. For two years. His wife had no idea. I can’t even begin to fathom what went through her mind when she found out. Or the tears she shed. Or the pain she felt. She had also unknowingly married an alcoholic many years earlier. It also got worse after they got married. I don’t know the extent, but I know it also put a strain on their marriage. That strain is no doubt back in their marriage now. Gone for more than a decade, and now it’s back.
I have no doubts that she had the same anger and exasperation and disappointment that my wife knows all too well. I’m sure his wife remembered it pretty easily, too. I don’t think the spouse of an addict will ever forget how their spouse’s addiction made them feel. There’s just no better way to say it than, “Like shit. It made them feel like cold, rotten shit.” It’s no different than adultery. He had been cheating – the alcoholic’s form of DAILY adultery – for two years behind her back. It’s just awful what we addicts do to our spouses. And it’s not even a little bit fair.
And that is why I still do not deserve my wife. It is a very selfless act to love an addict. There are very few emotional rewards. There is nothing but a lifetime of feeling inadequate because you will NEVER be number one. And when an addict is in recovery, there is very, very little their spouse can do to help. They can be supportive, but there is nothing they can really do to help. The addiction is the addict’s to fight alone. Only they can beat it. The spouse has to sit back and allow sobriety to come first, even before them. For their rest of their lives or their marriage, whichever comes to an end first. And that is NOT fair. It must be hell. If must absolutely f**king suck to be married to an addict.
I’m just thankful that with every passing day of sobriety, my wife doesn’t realize that anymore.
Thank you for sharing your story. My soon-to-be ex husband is an alcoholic – a functioning alcoholic (if that really exists?) – but an alcoholic all the same. And if I’m honest with myself, before I got pregnant, I was one too. Every activity as a couple revolved around drinking. We couldn’t even drive an hour to a football game without taking roadies. He would leave the game at halftime so that we could sit in a bar for the rest of the game. If we stayed in during the work week, nights were spent on the back porch having drinks and chain smoking. I’ve always been a bit of a binge drinker – in my 20s it was out of loneliness – but I never kept booze in my house. I figured I went to the bar so often, I didn’t need to be drinking at home too. That changed when I moved in with my husband. I started drinking with him every night and on weekends, he started early – sometimes before noon. Life with him was spent time one of three ways – work, buzzed or drunk. But it’s amazing what pregnancy will do to you. My purpose shifted. My body was no longer mine. It was protecting and growing the most important person in my world – my daughter. My husband continued to drink throughout my pregnancy, often staying out until 4 a.m. while I was home worrying. And then we had our little girl. She was beautiful. She was perfect. But instead of hanging out with his family, my husband spent his evenings sitting on the back patio drinking and chain smoking or at 5-hour happy hours. Horrific verbal abuse often accompanied his drinking. We went to counseling. Things got better long enough for me to get pregnant again. But once again, he chose booze. We fought. A lot. I was ” a nag.” In my eyes, he was a drunk. He spent his night drinking and then needed 3 or 4-hour naps on the weekends to offset his nights. He never spent time with us. He was a jerk. He called me the worst names I’ve ever been called in my life. Slung the most terrible insults I’d ever hears. This is not the way you talk to someone you love. When my second daughter was about three months old, I’d finally had enough. Our divorce should be final very soon. The only way to have a relationship with him, was to join him in his alcoholism, if that makes sense. Once I stopped doing that – once I took alcohol out of my equation – our relationship crumbled. He chose alcohol over me again and again.
I’m so very proud of you for choosing your family. It’s not easy to admit that you have a problem. It’s even harder to do something about it. Stay strong for that sweet wife and those sweet babies of yours!
Julie (a Mom Mob friend)
It’s amazing how similar he sounds to the man I was. It’s downright eerie. And yes, I totally get how the only way to have a relationship with him was to join him. For your kids sake, I’m glad you didn’t. But also for their sake (and for his,) I hope he can come to terms with being an alcoholic and get some help. Even if it never helps your relationship with him, it would sure be a great thing for his kids. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.