Excuse Me, All is Right With the World, He Paid the Car Insurance!

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Navigating this spouse shit is exhausting. I didn’t marry a guy who feigns remorse, he flat out lets me know he doesn’t have such a trite feeling. I’ve also been told he never wanted to marry me and conveniently as the court/legal issues are coming to a head, he’s ok with the idea of marital therapy.

The whole carrot, but really it’s a carrot covered in shit. It’s time to move on and be self-aware enough to know this is nothing more but more of the same manipulation and bullshit tactics of before.

Ironically he had deluded himself to this notion I somehow have to earn my place. I had a sense of “entitlement” – obviously ill placed by the title of ‘wife’.

Everything is none of my business, wife and all. Duh. I loathe having his last name now, it’s a reminder of something that could have been good but instead is thrown in my face too often.  If you’re wondering, everything is my fault too.

I should shut my mouth, because he did pay the car insurance. We should all be happy he did one thing in between picking up 22yo, jail, hospitals… I Mean really, HE PAID THE CAR INSURANCE.

I need to get back to extracting myself from this, not get lulled by the pockets of forced abstaining.

Marital therapy, that’s cute isn’t it. He gave me one reason, just one. He won’t though, because his reasons for that are self-serving to him, not out of a desire to own his part and beat all odds. It’s to have the court not yank his bail. And like the story goes, Kleo will gleefully throw my ass under the bus if I let him.

I don’t want to let him. I will accept nothing less than full commitment to sobriety and healthy living. He is offering maybes, and waiting for maybes. That all adds up to a stock pile of excuses and questionable at best justifications.

Good luck with that. He would be better served if he crawled back to the homeless shelter and played the woe is me card.

He’s a shell of a man, he used to be good. Now he is empty. He used to make $200k + a year, now he’s a felon who hasn’t worked in years.

He finds those slightly lower than he is to fill the ego. He married me, even if he tells me he never wanted to, he did. I have known nothing but devastation of addiction, I’ve seen the always low climb out. Always the low who fight and win.

I’ve seen it. I’ve seen hopeless turn to hope. I know addiction isn’t a character flaw, but hurts that are worn like an albatross. So I always believe.

I also know that no matter how much I believe, it’s doesn’t mean a fucking thing if the addicted aren’t in that place. Some will never find that, some will.

They have ‘us’ who carry the hurts they just can’t and they can’t see that. We aren’t stronger or better, we hold it differently, we hurt ourselves differently. It’s a vicious cycle.

Leaving it is harder than staying in it. I know that truth all too well.
Don’t be lulled by the shit covered carrot. Bow out with grace and dignity, they love their drug of choice above all else.
Know that.

-mk

Fleeting Conversations NOT Under the Influence

pinataYes, I get that just because a day passes without a direct use of something to influence the addicted doesn’t mean you’ll get graced with a fully sane person.

My codependent side wistfully holds on that this will be the very damn moment of clarity in him.

Did I say codependent? Check.  Married to an addict? Check.  ACOA? Check.  I read this:

We are extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that the loyalty is undeserved. Since starting a relationship is so difficult and frightening, when we do so we expect it to be permanent. This loyalty is usually caused by fear of abandonment. At home we always “hung in there” enabling the addict and denying the disease.

Sums it up nicely.  I hang in there, ever waiting.  I am working on the abandonment stuff, it’s like sitting in a pool of vomit.  Full of things that make you sick, in the sick and when you start to climb out of it, the sick is all over you and makes climbing out almost futile because you feel the grip of the solid but you keep slipping back in.

He doesn’t deserve me, let alone my loyalty to believing he can live a life not run by drugs and alcohol.  He’s shown every.fucking.reason. to not believe he wants a clean and healthy life.

I get almost out of the pool of vomit, eyes wiped and I can see.

Right.  Back.  In.

Maybe next time.

I handled this phone call well, I removed myself from engaging in a not productive conversation without the emotional trigger taking hold.  I said I have stuff to do, which I do.

Kleo is in the VA, again.  I’ve lost count, maybe 13th stay?  When he’s in jail or the hospital are the only pockets of time to have anything close to a productive conversation.  It’s kin to hitting a piñata as it cracks and spills to the floor.  Grab what you can, even though it’s crap candy like smarties and dum dums.  No one really *wants* that shit they pass off as candy, but the act of thinking you’ll luck out in the mad dash and get a rouge piece of chocolate makes the whole thing worth the concussion you might get if the blindfolded person swings again before realizing the damn thing already cracked and the savage beings are bagging up shit smarties and dum dums.

This phone call held more of the same, he did try (god love him) to dangle a carrot.  I bow down to the therapy gods that I didn’t grab at it.  I sure as fucking hell wanted to.  I didn’t.  I’m worth more than that and I’m almost kind of believing that.  Kudos.

The past month or so, I’ve had a few phone calls with Kleo that are self-inflicted ear bleeding from a spork.  Also known as ‘I was stupid and talked to a drunk or high person’.

The spork was dull btw.

I heard of his new 22yo that may or may not have been willing to fuck my husband, no ill feelings towards her.  He found her, and a few others at rehab, so we know she has her own set of very real struggles from the get go.  She may not even be aware he is legally married.

Married is such a fallacy in my world anyway.  Yesterday he told me, sober this time, he never wanted to marry me.  I forced him.  Vows hold no weight.  There is the pass needed to justify…

He could go to a program here in PA, we could get therapy.  (the carrot) I don’t know why he would go to a program here… I think it’s a card being playing in hopes I’ll let up on the legal side of all this.  That I’m so desperate I’ll believe the leftovers he throws down and take anything.

He couldn’t be more wrong.  Not well played.

The admitting to drugs, to drinking, to his mother failing to mention he had a bed in a program here because “she doesn’t think I should be with” her son, you know, after “all I’ve done to him”.  Or letting me know he has found a new ego feeder, I mean a lovely young lady to replace me with.

The all-consuming denial and enabling of those doing their damn best to “help” him.

Let’s add, said in the fleeting days of not actually under the influence at the given moment (and for the sake of all things even, lets remove the ‘oh your addict’ factor).  His priority is to his family, he’s moved to MA and plans to live there.  I’m in no way shape or form am I treated as a wife, a priority – just the cause of all his problems.

Therapy with him sounds like just the thing for a man who didn’t want to be married, wants a divorce and has no intention of being a partner of a marriage and tells me his life is “none of my business”.

And he’s got addiction problems.  Doesn’t sound like there is anything he actually wants, other than maybe believing if he holds the carrot out long enough, I’ll grab it and lighten his legal load.

It’s a carrot fucker, not even smarties or dum dums, let alone chocolate.

That would turn out well.

Back to the real world.  He’s an addict, he’s not ready not to be one.  Even if he weren’t, if your spouse and marriage isn’t your priority…well, they aren’t really a marriage.  Regardless of the rest of the shit in the ring.

I’m camped out under other woman, his family and his drug and alcohol use.

Where do I sign up?

-mk

Truth & Lies…one in the same

dog-shitOr better yet, when his lies are have taken your life, chewed them up and threw them back up on you?

A more realistic take on reality.

When suspect lies become irrefutable truths that you can’t keep over reaching and making up excuses for ‘why’. Why?

One who appeared to be a good human is now nothing more than shit on the bottom of your shoes that seems caked on to the crevices of your sole..soul even.

Delightfully enough, with the endless array of Fun (capital F level fun), dealing with an addict is, to them, you’ being even less than the shit on shoes.  There is no greater celebration in life than to be their nothing!

We are now 23 weeks in from when I came home to his partaking of copious amounts of alcohol (vehemently denying spice use, btw- everyone must believe that because we all know addicts NEVER lie!) and he ever so kindly tried to spare me by trying to push me out a window

That’s love.

I did end up out of a window.  I find it far safer if one must exit their home via unusual points of egress, ya know if you ever find yourself in the split second decision making moment of escaping the grasp of your rage filled addict husband before he succeeds in choking you until you can’t breathe instead of kind of can’t breathe and oh my fuck my vision is narrowing, throwing you down the stairs or slamming your body repeatedly on the window jamb…or running to the closest way to. Get. The. Fuck Away. Before. He. Kills. You.

Go for the latter.  I found calling 911 huddled small, disheveled and truth-2069843_640bruised on the porch roof preferable to his option.  Gives a whole new meaning to “I’ll get the door for you”.

His version is the one he’s created and in turn is the absolute truth.  I pretended, of course.


160 days, that’s what google tells me, I stopped counting a long time ago.

I did fall a bit to the trap he put out for me, I banked on my own pipe dreams and I have paid dearly for that.

I didn’t want that one day to be the end of my marriage, hind sight can go fuck itself too.

The lies never end.

Haphazardly pieced together, the lies stare you down and try as they may to break you to become, if not surpass the lies the addicted… my addict…my husband…Kleo has spun so much, that you fulfil them.

The lies want silently climb in and camp out inside you.  Kleo lies, manipulates, hides.


Husband

wedding-1361076_640That was my name for him, the damn therapists said he’s pretty much the only one I use “we” statements for.  Fuck.  Introspection was waiting its turn behind denial of that.  “We” is pretty defining, this part of “we” was the only “we” who gave a fuck about “we”.

There is no “we”.  Read the newspaper, “Man tries to push wife out second story window”, it wasn’t “Man tries to push “we” out second story window”, unless I missed that headline.

There is no recovery, just ill-fated justification and mommy knee deep in codependency as he’s killing himself and her in the process of “getting help”.

The only time in the past 23 weeks that “we” has factored in, was when it would serve Kleo’s addiction, or classically played ‘get out of jail’.

His “we” is the only thing in his life that matters right now, that’s his drug and I’m sure drinking is a close second.

I’ve paid dearly, if only it was the marks of my body.  The emotional toll and piecing my life back together in his fallout has been arduous and grueling.  I make no excuses for how I’ve chosen to fix the broken life he left.  Pick your life Kleo, pick your family and your wife,- clean, sober, active recovery….Hard stuff.  Or pick your drugs.

Our marriage never factored in.  It just got in his way.

His Mom does live in a Cape, so if the time comes she gets in his way too, at least it won’t be a second story window she gets pushed out of!

-mk