Divorce... Maybe

When James was less than a year old, I called 911 because Eli had overdosed on over-the-counter cough syrup.  It was something he read about on-line and seemed new and exciting. It was a terrifying day for me. Thankfully the kids didn’t see them roll him away on a stretcher. I put on a video in our bedroom and they remained clueless. I thank God for this every time I remember that day. He came home from the hospital that night and 2 days later did it again. Obviously this was a problem we would have to deal with. We have spent the last 10 years going to support groups, counseling, and rehab to help with this problem. I have also spent a lot of time in prayer.

In addition to overdosing on cough syrup, he looks at pornography to further his high. This hurts me even more deeply. As a woman and as a wife I have had my self-esteem shattered by this habit. He has been seeing a therapist that specializes in this kind of behavior for almost 2 years now. There has been some progress, but I still live a life riddled with lies and deception. There is a double life that he leads that keeps me second-guessing my intuition and sanity. Catching him in the act of using or finding clues that tell me has done it recently make my heart shut down and my mind reel.  I feel like a detective in my own house. I have spent many years working on my issues and trying to be the best wife I can be for him.  I have committed myself to reading God’s word every day and trying to make his addictions about something other than me.  And yet, they feel so personal. Every time. I often remind him that every time I catch him in a lie or high from substances, a little piece of my heart dies and closes off to what we could have as a couple. I long to trust him and share with him, but I feel guarded because of this behavior.

Recently he was caught shoplifting while getting his drug of choice at a Rite-Aid. He is now banned from all Rite-Aid stores and we are paying a fine of $300. I don’t really know that this behavior will ever end.  I know that he has struggled with depression all of the years we’ve been together and I have been supportive as much as I know how. His therapist has also added a severe mood disorder to his diagnosis. This means that I live with extremes all of the time. I am exhausted and heart-broken and I don’t know what else to do. When he lost his job 2 years ago, I had him stay at his parents' for 6 weeks while I let my heart mend. God has been so good to me. He softens my heart every time I feel betrayed and gives me a new love for my husband. It has been truly amazing.

At this point, however, I am not willing to wait for the softening of my heart. I am now 40 years old and starving for a marriage that feels real and honest. I want nothing more than to build a life with someone and share all of me. I don’t think this will ever happen for Eli and me. I still love him. I love him desperately. But I can’t live like this anymore. Please forgive me. Please know that I have tried everything to save this relationship. Please support me and support him and support our children. This road will not be easy. It is truly the last thing I want to do.

Linsey

Five Finger Discount

I had to ask the Starbucks girl for chocolate-covered graham crackers – they were behind the counter. She said an “old lady” steals them so the staff hide them. Ooh, that hurts. Did they talk about me that way? Back when I stole their CDs?

Starbucks was one of the main stops in Eli's little theft ring back in my kleptomaniac days. What do they expect? They display all their merchandise out in the open and the employees are frantically distracted making drinks. If you don't frequent Starbucks (first of all, why?) they feature about four CDs at a time in a little display in front of the register. These change throughout the year. I think there's a section of my massive CD collection that's almost exclusively Starbucks CDs, and not one of them was paid for. Probably a couple of year's worth.

I didn't steal like a drug-addict, to fund my habit. I stole for the thrill of it. CDs and DVDs, electronics, office supplies, jewelry, music equipment, sex toys, and of course, that cornerstone of my addictive behaviors, over-the-counter cough syrup. I guess in a sense, I did steal to fund my drug habit. I was just lucky enough (?) to be able to steal my actual drug. None of this stealing-and-hawking that Linsey's older brother had to do. (When she was a teenager, nothing my wife hid was safe. Her brother hawked all of her jewelry for PCP.)

A guy in my SAA group told me he had been a shoplifter as well, and he understood. He understood what happens in my brain when I steal. He said that studies had shown it was similar to a heroin rush, on a smaller scale. I don't know what “studies” he was referring to, I just know that I kept going back for more.

I kept track. I had a spreadsheet that summed the total estimated value of what I had stolen. When it reached $5,000 I stopped recording it. I stole from family and friends, schools, libraries, mom-and-pop joints, corporate giants, and every drug-store I could find. I delighted in getting around preventative measures. Cameras and alarm systems were just a challenge.

I don't know how I will make amends for all of this. I'm not trying to figure that out just yet. I'm just trying to root out the buried memories of all those offenses and make my fourth step as accurate as possible. I'm guessing I'll have to wade through some combination of written apologies and financial retributions. I don't know how I'll pay for these - it gives me a stomach ache.

A counselor once told me that stealing-as-an-addiction betrays buried anger. It does. I felt the world owed me. Cleptomaniacs and Shoplifters Anonymous asks “How much would you have to steal to finally feel satisfied or to make life fair?” Like any other addiction, there's never enough. Never.

So if you work in a Southern California drug store, and you've ever found three empty cough syrup boxes and the empty packaging for a Durex vibrating cock ring stashed behind the dog food, I'm sorry. Shame isn't a strong enough word. I was trying to get away from real life, to my “bubble”, pleasantly high and having sex with a computer. And I didn't want to leave a purchase trail that my wife could find.

I just need to make sure this habit stays in the past.

Staying Afloat

Kind of felt like throwing in the towel for the last few days. First off, let's get it out of the way - I used last week. Wife and kids were out of town for the day, and I had a "bright idea." Same old stuff - porn and DXM. An hour into the fog, I shut it down. Reemembered this isn't me anymore, I'm sick of feeling like a loser, and for the first time in years, I have dreams. Things that I care about and hope for. I should have blogged about the good stuff before the bad stuff happened, but oh well.

I'm encouraged that I made it more than four months - that's the longest in a while - but feel ashamed and stupid enough that my mind goes to dark places. I've been in dialogue with my psychiatrist and therapist for the past few months about how persistent my thoughts of suicide are. Having to face a relapse fires these up into a frenzy. I won't do it though, because I have kids. It's just discouraging to have it nagging at my brain all the time.

The other option that presents itself is to go out. For good. To just stop trying, get high all the time, live in the porn-bubble, and hide it well enough to fool someone into taking me in. Of course that wouldn't work, duh - but that doesn't stop my addict from bringing it up over and over. Bastard.

So when I land back on earth and realize that I need to keep trying, keep growing, asking for help, listening to others' wisdom, working a program, just basically doing what I'm supposed to do, I've felt kind of blah. It's interesting - usually after a relapse, I feel inspired and freed, ready to get back on the wagon and make something of my life.

This time is different, I think because I called and asked for help instead of getting caught. It's like my addict is sulking in the corner, resenting me because he could have slipped in a few more highs before the crash. I cheated him of that. Even worse, I gave him a taste of paradise instead of asking for help before I used. Now he remembers what it's like - still has the sound of ecstasy echoing in his ears.

I remember an addiction specialist telling me that for many chemical addicts a sexual addiction is hiding as the primary addiction. I'm understanding more and more that I'm that person. I don't start a relapse by craving the chemical high. I start it by slowly moving from perusing fashion sites to stockpiling porn images, and when that's not enough I augment the rush with chemicals.

I love the biblical story of the manna. The Israelites received just enough to sate their appetites, no more, no less. If they tried to save for later, it spoiled. There was no guarantee for tomorrow's food besides faith.
So like I said earlier, I have found myself ready to let this blog go. Ready to either abandon it or delete it. Recovery in real life is a mix of rewards and challenges, and I wasn't sure the ratio here was worth it - more challenges than rewards.

But some manna fell for me recently, in the form of a couple of comments. Patricia Singleton, from Spiritual Journey of a Lightworker, wrote, "Things can get better when and if you both want them too. [My husband's] patience and our combined love for each other has gotten us through the worst of times." How comforting to hear the wisdom of someone who has walked the difficult path of healing from the wounds of incest, and who continues to grow in her marriage. Sometimes I just need to know it's possible - that my efforts to stay sober and her efforts to heal are worth the pain.

And Invisigal wrote, "Your posts have been a great help not only to me but to several SA men that I know. One of those men came to the realization of his addiction after reading your blog when I sent him the link." And that pretty much says it all right there. That makes it all worth it.

Another Crash

My wife caught me using tonight. It was the same as I've done in the past - taking the stuff before I go to bed, then faking sleep while I float in the glow of the hallucinations. We were both awake around 3:30 and she could tell so she asked. I told her the truth.

This last time was supposed to be the real one, the sobriety that lasted so we could put our marriage back together. I messed that up.

I don't want to lose my family. I love Linsey and the kids so much it's like they're a part of me.

Linsey said that I need to move out and go to my mom's house tomorrow and that she wouldn't change her mind this time. That's okay with me. I feel awful and I don't want to have to see the look on her face every day when our eyes meet. It breaks my heart and I can't stand that I'm hurting her again.

I've heard a lot of people talking about hitting bottom lately. My addictions have had way too few consequences so maybe being away from my family will be the bottom for me. I know it's so much worse for most people so I feel stupid even saying that.

I am sleeping on the couch for the rest of the night. Tomorrow will be a hard day. It will be good to be sober again. I need to do the right things this time. It's possible to be sober I, just haven't committed yet.

Entwined - Me and My Codependent

I relapsed. I was prescribed Vicodin for a back injury and I thought I could handle it. I was proud that I told my wife immediately about the prescription, gave her the bottle and let her dole out the pills. But I started banking them, saving them up and taking handfuls at the end of the day so I could get a little rush.

Years ago we volunteered with a foster child, a tough one who stayed in the highest security group homes. They'd give him his little cup of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics and then check under his tongue to make sure he'd swallowed, rather than pulling the pills back out and selling them on the group home black market. If I ever have an injury severe enough to justify something more than ibuprofen, I guess that's what I would need.

During my Vicodin time, me and Linsey had a huge fight, and I went on to a couple nights of porn and dextromethorphan, and that's all I really want to say about that. If you've read my blog before, you know I've struggled to find “long term sobriety”, but I'll keep trying.

There's been so many other blog-worthy things going on, but I've been avoiding this place because, well, you know – just didn't feel like saying “relapse” again. So now that it's out of the way...

I'm learning about codependents. I'm beginning to understand my wife, and the way that we work together, two parts of a twisted machine. It occurs to me that I've been frustrated for years when I watch her defend the drug-addled antics of her family. As a card-carrying addict, it is so very obvious to me when somebody is using.

When we met my brother-in-law Jason at a restaurant this weekend, everyone was excited about his birthday except Jason, who was so stoned that he didn't even know it was his birthday. He told us the stories, all true, about his road-rage fist fight (he put a guy in the hospital), the nerve damage, the prescription morphine. His ex, the one that he's sharing the house with until they're evicted, told us he's seeing two different doctors (who don't know about each other) and taking eight pain-related prescriptions.

Jason recently admitted he's an alcoholic, but he's not working any program. He's “trying to stop drinking”, but he's currently going through a separation, losing his kid, losing his house, already lost his job, has uncontrollable rage, and is on eight different painkillers. I love him, my heart breaks for him, I want to be there for him when he's ready to get help, but let's call a spade a spade – he's in active addiction. My wife kept explaining to me at the restaurant that he's just on a strong prescription, and that's what was causing the profuse sweating and inability to make eye contact or complete sentences.

No wonder she's put up with me so long.

I believe any knowledge, any perspective-increasing glimpse, is progress. Have I benefited from Linsey's tendency towards denial? Yes and no. I'm still living at home, I keep getting “second” chances, she's showed me patience while I've continued to work. I am not giving up on me or us, and I've learned from each of my relapses. (Lesson #47: No Vicodin, no matter what.) But I know what Jason needs to hear right now: We love you and we want to help. Let's go to a meeting together. I know what it feels like to be trapped in your world. Not denial. Not justification.

Besides the obvious, this has been a great few months. I've felt joy – real joy – more than I have in a long time. It's like it just bubbles up, out of nowhere. My sponsor says it's because I'm really working the steps and making progress. He says you can't really explain the inner workings of the black box, but when you put good stuff in, good stuff comes out.

That's what I'm focusing on. And those nagging little signs that foreshadow a slip.

[Image by happyjester32] [This post also at The Second Road]

One More Do-Over

Been sailing some choppy seas of late. Despite my failure to post here, I've stayed well connected in my recovery circles. I've had to – the beast came back.

I'm not looking for pity or shame. You poured out compassion and good advice when I slipped last month. I can't tell you how much I appreciated your words. I guess I just wasn't really ready to listen. Even though I stopped using, I spiraled down further, into depression and self-destruction. Then I used for a week. Then I asked for help and stopped it again.

I scared people who care about me. Their focus shifted from “How can we keep Eli from using?” to “How can we keep Eli alive?” At this moment, I don't have a clear picture of what the hell happened. From where I stand, it's a blur of DXM and lies, razor blades and adrenaline, porn and cigarettes. But no tears or screaming. Just a muted and futile and desperate attempt to run far away from home, only to end up right back in my living room, dizzy and afraid.

I'm alive and breathing, and I'm facing the right direction. I've spoken to the people who know me best and I'm listening to their counsel. I'm taking it one day at a time, and trying to rebuild from where I left off. I have a few basics that I'm holding on to. One of these is that I'm not going to kill myself. I'm just not. My dad asked me to stave off any self-destructive thoughts by picturing my own funeral, and my kids crying. That seems to be working for now.

As far as my addictions, I'm spending my time working my program and enjoying the good things that are in my life. (Mainly my chihuahua.) I have this complicated mess of marital problems, psychiatric loose ends, and addictive coping mechanisms – and I'm trying not to think too hard about any of it. Today, I see it basically like this: My marriage has improved, but like any journey of the human heart, there are wounds that run deeper than I can bear. These are my triggers. I have a right to call it like it is: we've got a long ways to go. At the same time, I must develop the tools and resources necessary to respond to these triggers without self-medicating. That's my job, my side of the street.

Today my wife and I kissed again. We aired our feelings, gave them the space they needed, and owned up to our shit. And I know that my story, especially this month's events, makes a mess of the lines we are supposed to draw in the addict-codependent relationship. I've read your posts. I've read of those who are staying, those who are leaving, those who are in agony as they try to find the right path. All I can relay is where my road has taken me. My Linsey is here, and I am here, and today we chose again to walk in the same direction.

One Stupid Night

I lost my way.

I used last night. I don't know why. I'm still coming down so I'm not thinking very clearly.

During the darkest hours of the night, I thought about how my brain works. I knew that if I waited for morning, I would try to hide my mistake, and would find myself caught up in the machinery of addiction. I would think that I could stop it all through prayer and willpower and work, sidestepping disclosure. I've been there with embarrassing frequency, in that cycle of swearing off, planning, acting out, then starting over again and again.

So I woke up Linsey at 4:00 and told her what I'd done. I don't want to get caught in a week or a month, wandering the house while the world is sleeping. I need to stop now, I said. I'll reset my sobriety date (I had seven months) and get back to living. And I knew that whatever shame I felt today or tomorrow wouldn't be worse than the nightmare of living in my addictions.

My addictions. I've been a little vague because, frankly, I'm kind of embarrassed. But what the hell, here ya go: I'm addicted to DXM and internet porn. DXM is dextromethorphan, or cough syrup. Yes, over-the-counter cough syrup in “recreational” quantities. The reason I feel stupid is that being addicted to Robitussin is very high-schoolish, and a real sex addict is supposed to be visiting massage parlors, right? I'm such a fucking teenager when it comes to my vices. I throw in abusive doses of a couple other prescriptions as well, and I find nirvana. My rehab psychiatrist once said, “we become chemists.”

I am the luckiest man in the world. I have beautiful, intriguing children. I get to sing and make music for a living. My wife is generous and kind and diligent in her own recovery, and we are finding the way together. I have been reading through your past comments and I am humbled to be here with you. I ask that you forgive my selfishness. I'm getting back to work.

Image credit: nervousgravity @ deviantart.com