Alcoholism is a disease?

The reading in my “One Day at a Time in Al-Anon” book today talks about alcoholism as a disease. It says with regards to relapses from sobriety, “I can no more blame the alcoholic than I would blame him for a relapse in any other disease.”

Yet I do — or I have done so. I have blamed my husband for his relapses, using them to point out his character defects. I know if his disease were cancer and he relapsed after some time in remission, I would be loving and sympathetic and would never consider placing blame on him. So why is it so hard for me to think of alcoholism in the same way?

I think it’s because the consequences of his alcoholism have a direct negative effect on me and on our children. I feel like “if he loved us enough, he wouldn’t choose the drink over us.” And I know that holding on to this errant way of thinking is what makes it harder to shed my anger.

It’s something I need to work on.

Working the steps

I’ve been attending Al-Anon for about 6 weeks now. This week I’ll stay in the large group meeting instead of going to the beginners’ meeting. I’m hoping that doing so will help me figure out how to move from being just a meeting-goer to actually working the 12 steps.

I’m not sure that one meeting a week is enough to help the 12 steps be ingrained in my life. But there is also a part of me that doesn’t want to invest more time in the world of addiction. However, I know that only 10% of alcoholics who quit drinking stay sober forever. And based on the men in AA that I’m familiar with, the ones who have 10, 15 and 20 years of sobriety are the ones who still after all these years go to multiple meetings each week.

Maybe attending the regular meetings will help me get to know the people in the group better, which will help me feel comfortable with seeking out a sponsor, who will challenge me to truly work the steps.

Boy, do I wish there was a magic wand for all of this.

Pancakes

Sometimes I forget that it’s more than just me in this alcoholic family saga. Oh, I’m often reminded that my sons miss their dad; they are pretty vocal about it. (Though he’s here so often, I think he is hard to miss.) But my daughter really doesn’t say much.

I’ve asked her a few times how she feels about the situation, but she doesn’t talk much. She’s shared her frustration that when her dad is here, he goes around barking orders and hollering. She remarked that it’s more peaceful without him here. But beyond those couple of sentences, she hasn’t said much.

This morning, I was in the kitchen getting out the griddle to make pancakes for breakfast. My daughter came downstairs, walked in the kitchen and said, “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Making pancakes.”

She got a funny smile on her face, walked out of the room, came back in and smiled at me again. When I asked what was going on, I got the typical pre-teen, “Nothing…”

Unsatisfied with that response, I asked her again.

“Well, yesterday I heard you and Daddy fighting. I was so scared, so I said a prayer. I asked God to let Mom make pancakes in the morning so I’d know everything was going to be ok.”

She started crying. I scooped her into my arms — as much as you can scoop someone already taller than yourself — and assured her that everything would indeed be ok. I told her about how my husband and I are going to counseling together. And offered that we weren’t fighting, but having a loud discussion about the merits (or not) of having Obama speak at Notre Dame and being awarded an honorary degree.

I feel guilty for the fear in which she must live her life. At 12 years old, the prospect of your parents getting a divorce and the reality of knowing that your dad is an alcoholic must be downright scary.

And I hope that as she went to school today, she felt some comfort in the knowledge that sometimes God answers prayers with pancakes.

Cracked

I’m not sure if it’s that I’ve been going to therapy or going to Al-Anon or if it’s that I’ve been praying that I wan’t God to remove the anger and numbness from my heart, but today I feel cracked. It feels as if my heart is literally broken open. And what I am feeling is pain and hurt. I mean really feeling it. The tears are flowing for the first time in months, maybe years. And they keep coming. And I can’t stop. And as much as it hurts, it feels oddly good to know that I have the capacity to feel something.

I prefer “bossy.”

Years ago when my husband went to rehab, someone suggested that I read Codependent No More by Melody Beattie. I didn’t. I was overwhelmed by life and didn’t have the capacity (or so I thought) to take on that book. Besides, my husband’s alcoholism was his problem and no amount of reading on my part was going to make a difference in that.

So when he relapsed six weeks ago, that same person again recommended that I read the book. I went out that day and bought it. Read the first three chapters, put it down and haven’t touched it since. But a different friend is encouraging me to not only read it, but to really do the work it asks for at the end of each chapter.

My husband and I have been separated for more than a month. He is doing everything that I have asked him to do and yet I really don’t feel any less anger than I did a month ago. So I figure maybe the book is a good idea.

I have joked before that I’m “codependent,” but I’ve never really considered it as a real possibility. I prefer to think of it as “bossy” or “opinionated” or “caring enough to help people see how they should live their lives.” Which of course sounds ridiculous when it’s written here. But I’ve read the first two chapters of the book and scarily identify with several of the examples written there.

The opening story of “Jessica,” which the author calls “an extreme example” could have been titled with my own name. Other stories shared too are like windows to my life:

“My family and friends think I am a tower of strength…The truth is I’m falling apart…”

“It feels like I’ve lost myself.”

“I’m sick of taking care of people.”

“I feel guilty when I don’t do what’s asked of me…I schedule my day, my priorities around guilt.”

Obviously, I see this in my relationship with my husband. But I also see it in the way I relate to my parents who are struggling financially and I feel like I need to do something. I see it in the way I relate to my friends and siblings. I’m quick to tell them what decisions and choices they should make in their own lives, even though I feel almost paralyzed by the decisions I’m faced with in my life.

Maybe “codependent” hits closer to home than I thought.

Somewhere between here and there

It’s been a little over 3 weeks since I updated here. I’ve thought of it often, but have honestly felt too tired to talk anymore about my situation. I’m not sure if this is depression (still taking my crazy pills) or unmotivation or what, but I haven’t felt like doing much of anything in the past several weeks.

My husband is still at the halfway house, but he is here quite often as well. I’m not sure if that’s good or not. He came by yesterday after work and just hung out, watching a movie. That irritated me. Should it have? I question whether he’s attending all the 12-step meetings he should be and know that the questioning would be frowned upon by the Al-Anon folks. But I can’t help myself.

I’ve gone to 3 Al-Anon meetings. Met another, different girlfriend whose boyfriend is an alcoholic. What is wrong with these girls? I hope I am raising my children to be stronger and smarter than that.

I know that I’m not “doing” Al-Anon the right way. I go to one meeting a week. I read one or two entries in “One Day at a Time in Al-Anon” each week, but wonder if surely there must be an updated version. The one I have was printed in 1984 and says crazy things like “We are asked to forgive those who have injured us. Unless we have first judged and condemned them for what they did, there would be no reason for us to forgive them. Rather we would have to forgive ourselves for judging.” (April 30)

Are you kidding me? So I’m the one who is at fault for making a judgement about the fact that my husband’s choice to give in to his addiction has led us to the brink of financial ruin, has split apart our family and has had numerous other negative impacts on our lives? If this is Al-Anon’s prescription for serenity, I’m finding it quite a difficult pill to swallow.

People continue to tell me that I am strong. I feel more stubborn than strong. They ask me how we’re doing and mostly I say, “okay,” even though I’m not sure that is the truth. My voice broke on that answer the other day. I was surprised by that, by how easily the hurt welled up from under the surface.

I kind of feel like a crazy woman. Happy one minute, irritable the next. I see that I am unavailable to my children (emotionally and sometimes physically), yet being any other way requires significant effort. I draw my husband closer in, then panic at his proximity and push him away.

And I find myself wondering if this is a situation, a relationship, that is beyond fixing? That very wonder scares the hell out of me.