When is it time to leave?

When is it time to leave an alcoholic?

Travis and I had a large fight this morning - a lot of screaming - and I think I've determined the root of most of my anger. It's not the lies per se; I think a better term to use is either deception or manipulation. In my mind, manipulation is deliberately deceiving someone with the intention of getting away with it. Most of the time, if I ask or accuse him of drinking he will fess up. But if I hadn't asked he would not have volunteered this information.

I hate fighting with him with he's angry because he's the type of of person who throws out stingers just to anger me because he has no defense for his actions. Within a minute, the argument had somehow turned to the fact that I am always putting my work ahead of my family. WHAT!?! I asked him to provide one ounce of evidence - give me one example of a time in the past week when I have sacrificed my family in favor of my work. He couldn't.

What infuriated me even more was the fact that he chose to call in sick to he could recover from the previous night. I chastised him for being willing to take the day off for an instance like this, but he was unwilling to do so to support me at a pre-trial hearing I had at the county municipal court early next week.  Pure selfishness. He seemed stunned for a second when he realized his mistake and then the dart firing simply continued. I refused to discuss this with him further as the conversation (and I use that term loosely) had completely deviated from the issue at hand and he was simply saying anything he could to hurt me. I went upstairs to finish getting ready and he tried to follow, so I rudely slammed the bathroom door in his face.

I quickly packed up my stuff and headed out to the library. As I walked to the door he asked if I wanted to make up. I said no and again slammed the door as I left.

Unfortunately, his deception is only made worse by Billy, Travis' son. It seems that manipulation runs in the family. Billy is 10 years old and has an issue with following directions and rules. He believes that he has the right to choose which rules he follows and when. If he can justify in his head a reason to disobey, he will do so.

"Billy, you know you're not supposed to watch TV while working on your homework."
"But I'm not paying attention to it."

Honestly, he has 4 simple daily "rules" that he needs to obey:
1. No TV until your homework in finished.
2. No food can be left in your bedroom because the dog ALWAYS finds it.
3. Take your medication every day.
4. Follow the guidelines for dressing yourself in the morning: fresh shirt, underwear, and socks every day; pants can be worn twice.

With that in mind, here's how the past few days have gone:

Friday night, Travis drinks and attempts to hide it.
Saturday, Billy doesn't take his medication until he is caught.
Sunday morning, Billy tries to go to school with dirty socks.
Sunday night, Billy tries to go to sleep with Cartoon Network playing on his computer.
Monday, Travis drinks and attempts to hide it.
Tuesday, Billy again tries to go to school with dirty socks.

Will it never end? Every day one of these two intentionally "breaks the rules" in an attempt to deceive me, and the frustration just compounds. But they don't get it. They just can't comprehend the damage they are doing. I don't know if this makes sense, and I'm not quite sure if this accurately describes what I'm feeling, but it's almost as those my self-confidence is shot. People are trying to manipulate me - they think I'm stupid enough to get away with it - they often do get away with it - they don't respect me enough to consider my wishes. And I don't want to live my life in a constant state of disrespect.

Travis is either a) happy with his chaotic, deceptive life as it now stands, or b) unwilling to put forth the effort to change it. Either way, that is not the way I want to live me life, and at this point I don't see evidence that it is going to change anytime soon.

For the first time in my life I seriously contemplated  the fact that this relationship is over, and I was stunned to observe how little regret I feel about this decision. He loves to tell me to leave when we argue, knowing full well that our lease is up in August and I can't do so until then. As a PhD holder, I'm hoping to have a post-doctoral position secured by then, or possibly an academic teaching position. We have been discussing options about whether or not they will follow me and when (immediately or after several months when Travis has time to pursue his professional career in a manner he sees fit).

In the next few days I plan to approach him with this decision: our lease is up in August and he has until then to figure out how and when he is going to tell Billy that I am leaving and probably not coming back. I will either find myself a new residence in Columbus, move back home with my parents and find something to do there, or follow a career opportunity somewhere else. If and some point in the future he manages to pull his life together we can contemplate resuming our relationship, but I can't put my life on hold for waiting for that to happen.  At this point, consummating any romantic part of our relationship is the only option I see.

I'm tempted to change the title of this blog to "CAN You Love An Alcoholic," and unfortunately I am probably forced to conclude...no.

Pity

Pity is not usually something I feel towards people. I almost look at that as a bit of an insult, because I think that's how I would feel if I knew someone was pitying me.

Remember the 10 gallon bucket? I just left it in the garage, near the recycling. I wanted to make sure he saw it, to make sure he knew that I knew. Why did I want that? Well, I guess at the time I wanted to make him mad, to make him feel guilty, to make him understand the consequences of his decisions.

Our recycling had been building up, and last night I wanted to load up the car and take it all over to the school's recycling bins. He helped me, and as we were almost done loading he noticed the bucket.

"Was that all in here [the garage]?"
"Not all of it."
"Where else was it?"
"Just....around...the house."

Silence.

There was not another word spoken as we drove to the school, unloaded, or drove back. But as we were driving over there, I heard a sniffle. Was he crying? It looked as though he was fighting back tears. That was not the response I expected. And that was when I caught myself feeling pity towards him, and I felt bad because of it.

M-W dictionary defines pity as "a sympathetic sorrow for one suffering, distressed, or unhappy."

Seeing that overwhelming evidence of his drinking and deception had obviously made him unhappy. He was distressed, and yes, he was probably suffering. Was that what I had wanted? Well, no....I don't think so....

So what did I want? Why did I do that? It was supposed to be a counterargument: You want to know why I get so upset about one little lie? Because it's never one! It's a fucking 10 gallon bucket's worth! ....I don't think it can across that way.

And now the swing I'm on is swaying back in the other direction....It's okay, it's not your fault....you're sick.....we'll get through this....you can't control what you're doing......

My God, when does this vicious cycle of anger, hatred, and pitiful sympathy ever end?

What do I want?

So he's been doing a pretty good job of hiding his drinking lately - I think I've missed most of it. I had one suspicion about a week ago when I asked his son Billy to clean the bathroom and he found an empty can behind the toilet. I confronted Travis and he said that must have been from a long time ago. Then the next day I found one of the same cans under the seat of my car. He "honestly can't remember" where that came from. Sure....

He was somewhat frustrated with me on Saturday because he was trying to take the lead on a biome project of Billy's. I offered some advice and it was good - he hates it when I do that. He left to cut a piece of plexiglass at work and it took way too long. I knew what was up. He came home, told me he'd stopped to have a drink, and that he brought one home and intended on drinking it. He was telling me now because he didn't want to lie about it.

I got mad. Then he got mad at me because I had told him that I wanted him to be honest and wouldn't give him shit about it if he was. I guess I said something like that, but.....

Do I want him to be honest? Can I seriously not be mad at him even if he is?  I had a hard time in this argument because I initially couldn't justify my feelings. At first my points were:

1. It doesn't matter that he told the truth today - he's lies more often than he tells the truth.
2. Even though he was honest, he didn't apologize. It was as though he said, this is the way it is, and if you don't like it fuck you.

He didn't buy the first one. The second he understood. It  made sense to me too, but not until I said it. The evening didn't end well, and I've been really struggling with my anger. And I'm not entirely sure why.....Do I want him to be honest? Yes, but... do I want to be told he's drinking? No, because I don't want him to be drinking! But he IS going to drink, so if that's the case, do I WANT to know? Now I'm confused.....

Here's where I get mad....I know that there are a LOT of times he lies. If someone lies about doing something 90% of the time, and only tells the truth 10% of the time, do they really deserve a gold star for that? Should they be praised for that pathetic effort? If a student only turns in his homework once a week, does the teacher sit there and say Great Job! Now let's work on doing it twice a week! Or do they sit there and scold the student?

The next morning I caught him walking around and picking up a few hidden cans. He did so right in front of me almost as though he wanted to say, see - I'm not hiding it! It infuriated me, because I knew where all the other ones were still hiding. The ones I had been asking him for months to remove. So after he left I went around with a 10 gallon bucket and completely filled it with cans and bottles from around the house, and it took me less than 5 minutes to do so. Your tablespoon of the truth? Yeah, well here's 10 gallons of fucking lies!

So what do I want? If I know that I only get the truth 10% of the time, would I rather not have it at all?

Anger Management

"When angry, count to four. When very angry swear." - Mark Twain

That has always been one of my favorite quotes. I wish he could have provided some more thorough directions.

We had a large argument this morning, luckily over the phone. The short: two nights ago he drank, so I told him that I didn't want to hang around him and spent the rest of the evening working up in my office. A very productive evening at that! I was proud of myself - I wasn't willing to bow down and take it, but I didn't get angry. I was going to forget about it and the next morning everything would be fine. Oh, if only life were that simple.....

Next morning he was pissed off. I was taking the dog outside while he was having a smoke, and while I don't remember exactly what he said to me I essentially responded by saying I wasn't mad, you can't help yourself, you're sick. I don't think he took that very well, because everything about he body language, tort remarks, and avoidance of eye contact with me the rest of the morning said that he was mad.

Now THAT, did make me mad. What gave him the right to get mad at ME? HE was the one that drank. I did nothing rude to him that night - I did exactly what I told him I would do. What the hell did he have a right to be mad about? Things didn't resolve all day. when I got home from work around 8 I was told there was no dinner, we were all fending for ourselves, and he went upstairs to clean the bedroom and then went to sleep ~9:30.

This morning I called him on it when we were on the phone and the conversation got much more heated than I thought it would. I was MAD, and I don't know where that came from because while I was mad, I didn't think I was that mad until we got gong. I was shaking as I talked into the phone. I could see the hatred on my face without looking in the mirror. It was almost a good thing that the conversation had a time-out when he had to help a patient at work. The conversation ended with him apologizing and agreeing to think about my request of how HE wants me to respond in situations such as two nights ago.

Of course, I did the typical "How do you know when its time to leave an alcoholic" Google search and winded my way around to this book: The Dance of Anger: A Woman's Guide to Changing Patterns of Intimate Relationships. Not many self-help books have 5 Amazon stars with 100+ ratings. My local library let me preview part of the first chapter, and this segment really made me stop and think:

Anger is neither legitimate nor illegitimate, meaningful nor pointless. Anger simply is. To ask, "Is my anger legitimate?" is similar to asking, "Do I have a right to be thirsty? After all, I just had a, glass of water fifteen minutes ago. Surely my thirst is not legitimate. And besides, what's the point of getting thirsty when I can't get anything to drink now, anyway?"

Anger is something we feel. It exists for a reason and always deserves our respect and attention. We all have a right to everything we feel--and certainly our anger is no exception.

My initial reaction: Bullshit! I have every right to be angry at him! But....I had just told him that he did not have a right to be angry at me for his drinking.....which is right? You can't have it both ways, and - although it pains me to say it - I have to concede. He has a right to be angry at me about whatever he wants. I think the key point is how we act on that anger.

I reserved the CDs of that book from the library. I have 2 hours of commuting each day to my new job and I might as well do something constructive with that time. 

The viscious cycle around a weak foundation

Hi, my name is Rose and I love an alcoholic.

Hi Rose.

It's been 36 hrs since he last had a drink.

*clapping*

My boyfriend, Travis, and I have been dating for almost 5 years, and I was somewhat blindsided by his alcoholism (or maybe just oblivious....). I had never known an alcoholic before; it wasn't an issue in my family. I didn't know the signs, and continued to develop alternative explanations.

He got his second DWI...well, sometimes you're just not thinking straight after a few drinks. He was only a few miles from home.

The hiccuping zombie I found covered in vomit at 3 in the morning, rocking on the couch with his his closed.....a little freaky, but must not have been feeling well.

He lost his job....but wasn't everybody cutting back?

And those college courses he failed.....well, it was his first time in school in over 10 years. It's hard to get back in the groove.

Luckily it was he who came to me and said, I think I have a problem, else I'd still probably be oblivious to it all. That was almost three years ago, and now we live together in a rental home with his 10 year-old son, Billy, from a previous marriage.

The time in between has been a roller coaster. He wanted to start AA - I was skeptical. He was doing well - apparently just good at hiding his drinking. I started to see a counsellor - he immediately didn't like Travis, so I left. I tried going to Al-Anon, but it just didn't feel right.

And we've finally gotten ourselves into this cycle:

Travis says he needs to go to meetings, and he promises to tell me if he drinks.

Travis drinks and doesn't tell me.

I find out he was drinking (about half f the time).

I confront him and we fight.

Eventually we make up, and the cycle starts again. The cycle varies between 3 days and 3 months, but lately it's been getting shorter as I've been getting smarter.

Here's an analogy I've used before to describe the damaging effects of this routine:

In my opinion every relationship needs a good foundation to build on if it's ever going to grow. Each day a couple spends together is like spackling bricks together to build wall. Get creative with whatever suits you (e.g. the bricks are your experiences, hopes, and dreams, and your love and support for each other is holding it all together...you get the picture). But hardships arise...sometimes the building just halts, and sometimes life comes at your wall like a hammer and knocks some of it down. It's okay though, because you're strong, and you both bounce back, make the repairs and keep right on building.

But alcoholism sits there right around the corner - a big sledgehammer in hand, waiting for you to turn your back so it can strike. And unfortunately, sometimes you haven't even had time to repair broken bricks before the hammer strikes again. Soon you see you wall shrinking - not growing. Even worse, sometimes you swear you can see alcoholism hand the hammer to your lover, who starts takeing down the wall himself....

Do you defend your wall, or do you run away for awhile until you're sure the vandal is gone? Do you try to rebuild quickly, or do so slowly to make sure you wall is as solid as possible? When your lover has the hammer in hand, do you attack.....

So here's my question: How DO you love an alcoholic? How do you love somone that is tearing down what you've worked so hard for the minute your back is turned?

Every Rose has its thorn....and mine loves Grey Goose.

*A names in this blog have been changed to protect the anonymity of those involved.