Loving An Addict: My Sixth Sense 

Posted: April 23, 2015 in Addiction, Life and the Pursuit of Balance & Happiness, Marriage, Love, Dating, and, yes, Sex!, Uncategorized

The story of my love for, and life with, an alcoholic is not a pretty one, nor is it one that can be told all at once. This love, this life, saw many chapters. Some happy, more not, some just downright scary. As I tell these stories, memories come flooding back, and I don’t think I realized when I decided to write about this life just how difficult it would be. Therefore, I write in small instalments, a story here and there. This isn’t my life anymore. It’s my past life, one that I am just now learning to put behind me, but the memories, they are still mine, and will always be a part of me. He just can’t be anymore. 

We got married on a whim, Jay and I. We were living together, Big K (my oldest son) was 7 and Little K (our son together) was almost 2. Marriage just seemed like the next step. It was my idea. Out of the blue I suggested we get married. It was early January, shortly after the new year, and we were hanging out in our basement, him drinking, after the kids had went to bed. He agreed. We were married on Valentines Day the following month, a small affair with immediate family only. I borrowed a wedding dress, the church wasn’t decorated, and the place where the “reception” was held was a small private dining room in a local restaurant. I didn’t get to shop for wedding dresses, select bridesmaids, decorate, or any of the thousands of tasks involved in planning a wedding. Yes, I asked for it. This was my idea. I didn’t realize at the time how much I would regret it later. 

Deep down I knew then that I was making a mistake. I knew, somewhere in my subconscious that I would live to regret it, but a huge part of me hoped that he would change, that marriage would settle him down, that becoming a “real family” would make him realize what he had, make him grow up. It didn’t. If anything the new concept of family and responsibility just fueled his addiction. 

Just a few days after our wedding he decided he wanted to go back to our hometown for the weekend to hang out with his buddies. We argued. I didn’t want to go home for the weekend, we couldn’t afford it even if I had  wanted to. Finally I caved, allowing him to go, but not making the trip myself. I had planned to run errands that day, including paying our electric bill in town, but since he was heading out anyway, he offered to do it. I handed him the 200 dollars to pay the bill, warning him that we were already behind and to not pay a cent less than what I had given him. He assured me he would, told me to stop being silly and just trust him. 

Trust. Anyone who has ever loved an addict of any kind knows, trust is not in their vocabulary. 

He went back home for the weekend. For some reason I had a nagging feeling about the electric bill. I got that often…a sixth sense when it came to him. It would happen many times over the years, this particular incident being the first. When I couldn’t take the nagging suspicion any longer I called to check the balance of our bill and it was, as I suspected, higher than it should have been. Just half of the money had been paid on the bill, the other half going into his pocket to support his drinking habit over the weekend. I was furious! I tried calling him but couldn’t find him. I tried several more times over the weekend, finally reaching him on Sunday. Once confronted he became angry and defensive. Somehow it was me who was in the wrong. Me who had fucked up. Me who was to blame. Maybe I was, maybe it was my fault. After all, what had I been thinking to give him the money in the first place? 

I’ll tell you what I had been thinking. I was thinking I could trust my husband;  the man, and in this particular case I use that term very lightly, who was the head of our home, of our family. I was thinking that he wouldn’t do this to us, to himself, that he would never put our family in this situation. And what a situation he had put us in. I spent the next 2 days on the telephone with the electric company trying to persuade them to not disconnect our services while he stayed drinking with his friends for another 2 days, finally arriving home on Tuesday. 

What a great first week of marriage right! Our first breakup occurred just 3 months later. 

My “sixth sense” was alive and active for the remainder of our turbulent marriage, I often felt things that I couldn’t explain sometimes. I just knew something was wrong, or something had happened. I couldn’t explain how, I just did! 

One other particular incident stands out very clear in my mind. We were then living in an apartment back in our hometown. Things had been rocky from the get go, but we were going through a particularly rough patch. He went out one night, drinking as per usual, but ended up at the bar which is something he seldom ever did. Usually his drinking took place at one of his buddies places. The entire night that he was out, while I stayed home with the kids as I always did, I had a bad feeling, a knot in the pit of my stomach and a nagging tug at my heart. Something was wrong. I knew it because I felt it. I am sure many sceptics are rolling their eyes at the very mention of some sort of premonition, but that is exactly what it was. 

He didn’t come home that night. I watched the minutes, and then hours, pass on the clock as I waited. This, of course, reinforced my nagging suspicions. The next morning he called me from his parents house, his voice a little nervous and apprehensive. There is was. Confirmation. I would learn later that day that he had been with another woman at the bar. The first of several times he would cheat on me.  

While this sixth sense was often a blessing, it was as much a curse. I often wondered did I want to know. Would I have been better off not knowing when he had cheated, lied, stolen money from my wallet or our kids piggy banks, blown our rent money or the countless other betrayals that he would bestow on me over the years. They say what the heart doesn’t know it can’t feel. How very true. But I did know and it did hurt, time and time and time again. 

  1. Becky Bee says:

    This post is so insightful and significant. I enjoyed reading it- if enjoyed is a word I can use here. In any case, thank you for posting it.


  2. Miss Lavendius says:

    ♡ thank you for sharing.


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