How awful of me. I can feel the cringe and a flush from morbid curiosity. Mental health takes center stage with each new crisis. Insults are hurled about triggers in the same conversation decrying the state of the world and mental health care. Still, it's hard to use our words to talk about it or put a name and a face on it. And that's what this is about - mental health.
With the 4th anniversary of my soulmate's sobriety coming up I thought why not share what its like to be married to an alcoholic and the impact that Dylan's path has had on not just him, but me and my own mental health. To be clear, we are two people with different experiences and perceptions. I'll share mine. But first I need to tell you about Patrick.
Patrick Is My Co-Pilot
Patrick was a true friend who happened to be a proud recovering addict. When no one else was there, Patrick was. He had an abrasive charm that not everyone appreciated. But with his Billy Idol hair and a scowl, he routinely would drop what he was doing to lend a hand in any way he could, including if it meant telling someone to F'k off. He had no filter, often stunned (or offended) with his words, was off the wall, and generous. I knew him to be tender-hearted.
Not long before he passed away unexpectedly this past year, I realized how important he was in my life and thankfully, I told him so. I was driving alone, we were talking for over an hour, and I began full-on sobbing unexpectedly. Something broke loose knowing I was safe from harm and judgement. He occasionally spoke raw and penetrating truths in a way that belied their depths, and out of what felt like nowhere he made a full throated statement:
"You know what? F'k everybody, F'k people who say everything happens for a reason".
There was liberation in his words to me. He didn't care what someone else thought of him if it was going to come between his mental health and his truth. F'k toxic positivity. And F'k facades. It was like a permission slip to fight for my mental health. He had no idea how I needed those very specific words. I can't say if Patrick's demeanor was his armor, but he always presented his unvarnished self and left others the choice to take him or leave him. And that I recognize as what I admired and needed in my life, to love myself unconditionally and without apology to others. So here's to being:
UNVARNISHED, ACT ONE
My Husband The Alcoholic?
If you asked me 4 years ago, "What's it like to be married to an alcoholic," I would have told you, "I don't know. I have a husband who is thoughtful, goes out of his way, does the laundry, tells me he loves me, champions me and is my best friend. He doesn't drink daily". It was obvious to us at times things weren't right with him, and there was definitely something wrong with me but I didn't think alcohol came into play. Plus, we were and are fiercely loyal partners that have each other's backs.
My understanding of alcoholism didn't look like that. I had an uncle who died from drinking around aged 30 and another uncle that was an alcoholic who beat his wife. She left, took the kids and I never saw them again. He ended up on the streets and had to be detoxed under medical supervision, was disabled due to his alcohol use until he died, also too young. I had other friends and relatives who were in almost perpetual states of rage, became disabled or died young as a result of substance abuse, stole from business partners, cheated on their spouses chronically, and others....some things remain unspoken. Licenses revoked, getting fired from jobs - I thought alcohol abuse looked like that - blatantly tragic.
Alcohol was like a potion that magically changed some people from Dr. Jeykll to Mr. Hyde. And what I heard in church growing up confirmed that. It made a person abusive and depraved. If a person (usually a man) stopped drinking, everything would be fixed. You needed to get right with God and put away the booze. If a person didn't lose their desire for that sin it was kind of on them. I often heard the argument that the person in question (a relapsed individual/sinner) probably didn't have a "real" encounter with God, otherwise, they wouldn't want to drink or what have you. A gentler reasoning might be that they weren't trusting or accepting God's grace. "Just accept it! Why aren't you accepting it"?
I knew people to weep at the altar, begging for help. They weren't living their best life and their appearance fit the stero-type of an abuser or addict. Definitely not the respectable look or mannerisms of a functioning alcoholic. Alcoholics were failures that simply loved getting drunk and didn't want to change their lifestyle.
For all this, I can't honestly define what an alcoholic is. But I do know nothing about it is one size fits all, and alcoholism is a stealthy thief, often less obvious in eroding a person's health and emotional well being.
Dylan Quit Drinking
Four years ago Dylan told me he was done drinking. My first reaction was that I felt bad, like I had been harsh towards him. We were set up in sunny Florida, had a cute loaner cat (not a typo), and a plan to come out of covid smelling like roses. We had a small outdoor show booked that week and we knew people were coming that we liked. So, a couple nights before, we were feeling like winners and decided to splurge on Jai Alai. I was going to have a drink or two and settle in with my favorite and undeniably virtuous, nothing to see here, aren't I normal and healthy numbing agent - work. It was a nice night.
When we got to our gig we had every reason to be happy. Dylan was not. Then I was not. Even if he hadn't spoken, I felt misery and anxiety oozing out of him. I became anxious. I knew he was depressed and I put on myself to fix it. It weighed heavy on me, I wanted to protect him, help him, and after some lame attempts to influence his mood I felt helpless and distraught.
I knew the pattern: if Dylan drank, it wasn't uncommon for him to become depressed 2-3 days later. I had no idea he had drunk more than just a couple of beers. In my frustration, I told him, "This is not fair to me. There can be no more drinking in the days before we do this."
And that was the last day he had a drink.
Hi, My Name Is Jennifer
To be clear it was unfair. I was unfair to myself for putting the responsibility on me for something I couldn't control - someone else's happiness and well being. This is a separate, yet complimentary element in our symbiotic dysfunction. I am unfair to myself in this way not because of Dylan, but because I've done it for as long as I remember. I forgot, if I ever knew how, to fully function outside of this context: I am only worth what I see in someone else's expression. My value is measured by other people's happiness, displeasure or pain. Please, validate my sentient human being pass and allow me the right to my own feelings.
This behavior has infiltrated every area of my life. Its a drug of choice to quiet my pain and forget about the mountain of garbage in my head and life that's often begging for my attention. I knew it before, kind of. I knew it took me to some dark places but there was good reason for that and I changed course, I thought. Is it all that bad? Just a little won't hurt....
Hi, my name is Jennifer and among other things, I'm a codependent.
It's not heroic and it doesn't make me a great partner. It's embarrassing, nauseating, and humiliating among other things, to see yourself clearly and the pitiful way you relate with the world that doesn't align with what you have been dressing up as. And once you uncover that; for now I'll just say there's been a complicated and disorderly grieving process that is the battle for my "Self."
Dylan quit drinking and it became a catalyst for us both. If you ask him, he will tell you not drinking was the easy part. I didn't think it was a coping mechanism, it didn't look like one while it was happening, at least not on a grand scale. But sobriety lifted a veil on things that he had ignored and neglected, and then the hard part began. And I began to see parallel characteristics in myself. The circumstances of the last difficult year and a half brought an urgency for change. He got the help he needed first and then finally, after a million "reasons" why I had to put my own care on hold, I got the help I needed.
Plot Twist
But wait, there's more.... You didn't know? Dylan is a codependent caretaker, too! We both often neglect ourselves and are prone to unwittingly obsess on the needs of someone else. Its complicated....Enough to drive you to drink. We will always take care of each other, but now both of us try to be better to ourselves and encourage the other to do the same.
So what's it like to be married to a recovering alcoholic, uncovering a back log of trauma in tandem? I'm thakful everyday that he's my partner in this. We share our raw feelings. There are things in my life I wish I never experienced and everything doesn't happen for a reason, but this I choose and would never change: Us. And I choose to never stop fighting. I don't agonize or fear for his well being and health like I once did. Some days are awe inspiring, other days it's brutal to see the clean up work I have yet to do. But we are both present, in it together.
Alcohol camouflaged trauma for us both. It was a coping mechanism that in time created its own problems and allowed the other ones to fester. Sobriety has brought an opportunity for us both to heal, recover, and start to build a life together that's truly on our own terms. And this is far from The End.
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