My husband decided to post for the first time about his alcoholism on Facebook…without giving me a heads up about it first. This should be a good thing, but it’s turned ugly.
It’s his disease, his story, why shouldn’t he post? Well, it’s largely my story as well, and anonymity in Al-Anon is just as important and protected as it is in AA, though in the traditions, Al-Anon members are reminded to protect, especially, the anonymity of those in AA. I doubt AA traditions mention the same courtesy.
So I was outted by the one who propelled my attendance in Al-Anon, which pisses me off. His counter is that I had told people without asking his permission first. We counted. I told four close friends outside of family. He argues this is no different than him posting on Facebook.
This is not what got under my skin. In his post, he sings the praises of his “incredible friends” who have stuck with him along the way. “God’s miracles,” he called them. So touching. He speaks directly to one in particular. Great. Except aside from one guy who I know has known him forever, who are these incredible friends who have stuck by his side? I have not seen them.
The two paragraph post is done and I am outted but am left strangely absent, like I’m just as anonymous as before but I know I’m not. Not a word about me. I *know* it’s not about me. I know it’s all his struggle and his posting is a good thing, but holy crap, I have been there and back, over and over through all the shit with him, supporting him every fucking day in multiple ways, left constantly emotionally drained trying to learn through the 12 steps how to be SANE. Thank you, incredible friends from somewhere or other, for whatever it is you do. Nice learning about you. I’m just the wife. I used to be anonymous but now I’m just absent.
The subsequent comments were very supportive, and I am grateful for that. But if I may be catty, this one girl he knew from high school wrote “Proud of you! <3” Ah, the Emotiheart, the greater than 3 representation of social media love. In my anger, I felt that the past few years, all the unbelievable fucking hell we have been through, was tied up with a nice fucking bow in that little Emotiheart. I could have grown claws. Poor girl meant well. Yay support. Yay fucking emotihearts that try to really mean something and FAIL.
Anyhow, my husband is pissed that I’m pissed. I’m “making too much of this.” My anger never gets us to a good place and still I find myself sometimes choosing it over sanity. I’m a slow learner. I’m a bitch. But it really hurts to feel unappreciated, especially after having gone through so much and trying to be as supportive as I know how. I should have known not to expect anything.