On weekends, we let Ara read books and fall asleep in our bed – a treat for a week of eating breakfast, doing her homework and getting through the previous five school days. We’ll transfer her to her own bed shortly thereafter, and she’s none the wiser.
Tonight, a Friday, Scott is the featured speaker at his former outpatient treatment center and Ara is sleeping here, next to me, just like 2.5 years ago, and all I can think about is when Scott was in rehab the first time.
If one must go back to rehab, this is certainly the way to do it. As a speaker with a couple years of sobriety under your belt. But even knowing that, it is still a moment for reflection.
It makes me think of all the people in that session – raw and exposed. Re-learning life – perhaps for the first time. Do they have families? Have their families gotten help? The thing is, codependency happens so slowly that nobody really knows it’s happening. I certainly didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t getting as sick as he was.
We all know what the families on “Intervention” look like – enabling and rescuing. Loving their family members as best they know how, however ill-planned. But what does codependency really look like when you take away the drama and the cameras and the judgment?
Writing this book has been nothing but therapeutic. There are things that Scott hasn’t been able to say to me face to face (about the past, about his regrets, about his apologies) that he can communicate to me only through writing.
And that has been so healing.
But you know what? Despite its therapeutic nature, this is fucking hard. It’s hard to write my truth, and think about my own guilt and embarrassment. It’s really hard knowing that others will read it. And even more than either of those things, it’s hard to revisit those times. I drag my feet the most when it comes to answering our copy-editor’s questions because I just don’t want to think about it.
Regardless of the recovery program one chooses, I know I can be happy whether my addict is using or not. But let me tell you, the truth of the matter is that it is easier to detach from the addict when there is nothing bad going on.
For Valentine’s Day, I made Scott a Snapfish photo album with pictures of *just us* for the last 8.5 years. The album goes swimmingly along – 2005 when we met, 2006 our first year together, 2007 when we got married and had a baby, 2008…and then the next picture of just the two of us is after he’s done with inpatient treatment in late 2011.
It’s hard to think about those times in retrospect. Because it was hard to live them, of course. And not just because Scott was crazy. Sometimes, it’s hard to think about those times because I was crazy, too.
Even this week, Scott was adding more to his chapters at the request of our copy editor and BAM! I’m hit with the revelation of another lie that even though it happened TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO levels me like a ton of bricks. The air goes out of the room. My pulse starts racing and there’s this feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. And within two seconds, instead of just sitting with these uncomfortable feelings, and realizing that 1) his actions now speak louder than lies from 2.5 years ago and 2) that it’s not a reflection on me, I’m picking up the phone, I’m calling him, I’m telling him what I think of all this. Of him. I’m immediately brought back to those crazy years where I’m anxious, I’m worried all the time and even though it’s completely untrue, I feel as if I have no choices.
During that time, in the throes of his illness when his behavior was so bad, I was so filled with anger and bitterness towards him that I literally never gave him a present for any birthday, Christmas, anniversary or Valentine’s Day. For years. Because I didn’t think he deserved it. I couldn’t see past my pain and hurt when it came to weekly or daily disappointments.
So what does codependency look like without sensationalism? It looks like forced promises and drug tests, ultimatums and present-less birthdays. It looks like frantic searches through pockets and obsessive eye-reading to discern intoxication. It looks like breath-smelling and bag-checking. It looks like bitterness and anger and the withdrawal of love. This is what can happen to families.
And it might sound normal, or even justified, no? Addicts truly do terrible, horrible, awful things.
But consider this:
If my partner’s illness was Type I Diabetes or Hypertension or Asthma (all diseases which -especially with their relapse rates- mimic addiction in nearly every aspect in that they all have a genetic component, an environmental one and a behavioral part)…
…can you imagine not giving the person you’ve chosen to make a life with, who happens to happens to have diabetes or heart disease or asthma, a single present for years on end?
shaaren pine 