I was emptying the trash into our outside bin just now and what do I find but a can of beer stuffed into one of his brown bag lunches that he just tossed. And we’ve been doing well. Ugly, ugly thing. How strange that when I see you, you now represent an absolutely unwelcome guest, something that I would gladly kill so that I wouldn’t have to see you again. And because of my program, I have more calm and clarity now than I did before, and I don’t transfer my anger and sadness to the alcoholic. But my heart still drops to the ground. I still feel some kind of defeat.
Just last night I went out with one of my girlfriends and had a beer for the first time in three months. The restaurant we went to carried my favorite kind, and I hadn’t drank in so long in support of my husband’s sobriety. That amber in that cold glass was so so good. I only drank half the pint and stopped because well, that’s all it takes and I don’t need more. Beautiful beer in a cold glass. But when it shows up in or around my house, it is nothing but a threat. It’s a reminder that we are still fighting this thing I can’t easily see, especially when it has its hooks in my husband and makes him lie, quietly, and expertly. I hate that empty can in my trash outside. But I love my husband. Will bring this up softly tonight and see how deep the hooks are embedded. I know that I’ll be able to tell very quickly by his response. Good times. One day at a fucking time.