- Alcohol
When I was in my twenties, I was like a lot of other twenty-something year-olds. I worked several jobs while I went to college, got my degree and started out my career in a shoddy economy. Like many other people my age, I felt a strong need to get married. And, like many other people my age, I met another young professional who struck my fancy.
When I met my husband, he was a tall and handsome man. He had many friends and he was at the top of his field. His sarcastic humor reflected intelligence beyond his years, and I fell in love. I admired his mind and I adored his friends. We were not together long before we married.
We were only married a month when I realized something was different about my new husband. We used to go out often—life was a lot of fun! Life was one big party, in fact. But once I looked more closely into how he lived, I realized that he used alcohol to quell his anxiety. He struggled with terrible anxiety, which was something I sympathized with very much. I tend to be very anxious myself, so his drinking made some sense to me at first.
A few months later, I was studying alone for exams in my Master’s program when I got a call. He had been with friends, and they called me to come get him. He was in a terrible state, passed out in their bathroom floor. More concerning, he was hallucinating. In his state, he blurred the lines of reality and began making things up about me and our relationship. He said some regrettable things, and everyone believed him, because he truly was such a wonderful guy. The drunk version of my husband looked almost just like my normal, wonderful husband, so everything he said was taken as truth.
I scooped him up and helped him home. I was stunned, confused, and so worried about my upcoming exam that I didn’t understand what was happening. Over time, it got worse. He would drink at any opportunity to the point of blacking out. We were all so young, we didn’t realize that a person can be “blacked out” and still talk, walk and even drive a car! While he was wonderful sober, he would tell people I was cheating on him or other unfortunate non-truths when he was blacked out. I didn’t realize that people believed what he was saying. When he was sober, he was wonderful. When he was drunk, he was the devil.
I was ashamed and confused, and I thought his behavior was my fault. I never imagined, back then, that addiction and binge drinking affected professionals like my husband. I was ashamed of what had happened and of what had been said. I felt alone and isolated and frightened. My own anxiety and depression took over. Over time, as this behavior continued, we split up, and things got worse. I felt helpless. I turned to unhealthy friendships in an effort to prove to myself that things were still okay. Drama just escalated. We lost most of our friends. I was too young to cope effectively, and I began to get more and more erratic myself—all while we both maintained professional jobs and lives. In an effort to save face, I let my anger and grief build until it almost destroyed me. It affected my relationships, my health, and my spirit. I felt like my life was falling apart. I wasn’t ready to accept the situation fully at that time.
We reconciled and were together peacefully for several years after that, but it was never quite the same. I never fully trusted him again. Eventually, his drinking led him to wreck his car several times. The more he got caught, the better he got at hiding it all, especially from me. His career advanced far beyond mine and I respected and loved him—when he was sober. When he was sober, he was kind and generous, steady and dedicated. But he was not always sober. I educated myself and started to understand the situation better. I began to become more present in my own life, accept reality and deal with it more effectively.
But over time, I found that I could never trust him to be sober. I never knew when the beast would come out. I helped him get counseling, I set ultimatums, I offered loving support. I tried every trick: I tried being totally sober along with him, I tried loving talks, I tried limiting him, I tried watching him, I tried acting like I didn’t care, I tried counseling for myself. But then, I would find alcohol in his car, in the basement, in the garage. Eventually, I just began to feel numb to it all.
I turned to my career and worked on myself diligently. I built the steady life I needed to have. The turning point, for me, was when I realized that I could never have children with someone I could not ever fully trust. I was heartbroken, but I resolved myself to a better life.
One day, I decided it was enough.
I divorced my dear, wonderful, brilliant, handsome husband. But also, I divorced that drunk beast that lived within him. I have found a life of freedom that I never expected. I found myself, and I found my own voice. I have friends I adore, and a life of new adventures—but I am alone in that life right now.
Sometimes, being alone is okay.
I used to think of it as “being by myself.” Now I think of it as “being with myself.” By being fully present in my life, and fully aware and open to reality and possibility, there is a lot of hope for myself and yet hope that my ex can make wise decisions on his own.
I will always love my ex-husband, and I know how much anxiety and worries torment him. But I also had to realize that his sobriety must be his own choice. I pray for him every day. I pray for his strength, his wellness, and for a miracle to help him manage his anxieties without alcohol. He is a strong, intelligent, kind man who simply has a problem he must choose to face.
If this story sounds familiar—if you are that husband—it’s not too late. Before your spouse has to make the difficult decision I made, please make the decision to seek help. Sobriety doesn’t happen magically. It happens through hard work. It happens after you face your fears. It happens as a family. And you can make a change before it is too late.