Today, we missed another Mass. In spite of my reminding him yesterday. He was too drunk.
I can’t tell anybody in real life about most of what I’m going to tell you here for reasons that are fairly vain, and possibly even stupid. I imagine many wives of alcoholics have been there. You don’t want to admit that your life is a sham and your marriage is in tatters, and the person that you love with all your heart (or at least you used to before they turned into a monster before your eyes) isn’t someone you like being around anymore.
I’m writing this as a kind of therapy. I have family that I could reach out to, but I see that as a last resort–the final admission that I made a mistake, and that I have, in fact, been making excuses for his behavior and absence for years.
I just had major surgery five days ago, and he’s been drunk every day since. All day, every day. I’m not supposed to lift, but I have to lift our son to change and feed and comfort him because Max is often passed out somewhere, or I don’t trust him to be stable enough on his feet to do it. I made the bed, though I’m not supposed to bend, every day, because when I attempt to speak to him, he launches into an angry rant.
I stay in the bedroom, hiding, and hoping he’ll pretty much just leave me alone.
What prompted me to write this? He said he wanted to kick my teeth in and smash in my face with a flaming torch. Of course he doesn’t remember saying it, so I must be a liar (never mind that he actually lost several hours of time today, the default is that I’m wrong/a bitch/ a nag/ a piece of hillbilly trash)
I told him I missed him. I miss the man I married. What is this angry, drunken, irrational, intentionally hurtful person who took his place?
I’m going to start going to a support group for spouses of bi-polar people. He says they’ll laugh at me because how could I possibly have anything to complain about?–he doesn’t beat me, after all!
I’m so sick of being verbally abused. I’m so sick of my family being verbally abused. He is so angry all the time. He drinks and rants and drinks and rants and rants and rants and threatens and treats me like garbage. He treats me like garbage while he tries to alienate me from my family. I feel so sick right now.
Max is older than me. A lot older. He had a son with his first wife, whom he raised alone. His son turned into an angry, ranting, alcoholic who once threatened to smash in his father’s face with a baseball bat. I wonder, now, where he got that from.
Max used to love me. He used to be charming. Now he’s disgusting to me. He drinks all day and neglects himself. He passes out in puddles of loogie, he pees himself. He smells like mold.
I don’t believe in divorce, but I do know I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that. I’m not stupid, even though he wants to convince me that I am. I’m not beneath him, even though he wants to convince me that I am. My family is lovely–full of lots of genuine, wonderful people who would do anything for you. They aren’t stupid hillbillies.
I can’t drive so I can’t go to my mom’s or dad’s. I’d have to ask them to pick me up, but then I’d have to explain. I don’t want to have to explain. I have one friend, and he has a lot on his plate right now. I’m essentially alone. I’m like prisoner here, and I have to sit here and listen to his abusive nonsense for hours on end.
He won’t consider the possibility that he needs to seek help for his alcoholism. Or that his bi-polar is completely out of control. He knows he has no more control over his actions. He can’t help himself–he simply MUST abuse his wife with angry words, simply must drink himself into a blackout whenever possible.
He won’t help himself. At what point do you say–fine. Don’t help yourself, but I can’t sit here and watch you fall apart like this, and I won’t let your son see you disintegrate either.
Lord help me. Maybe there’s a reason he wanted us to miss Mass, too.