nar-anon

I’ve done some research on co-dependence and enabling and I see some work that I need to do. Michelle is getting back into the methadone program; she went for the first time this morning. All the al-anon literature is about finding happiness separately. I feel like my worth and happiness is tied so closely to her, too closely. I feel like I can’t be happy if she’s not okay. Some of that is normal. I know my feelings are normal. Tonight I’m going to NJ to a friend’s house, to get away and try to relax and have a good time. I might have an acupuncture appointment, just splurge the money and I think it’s worth it. I need to take care of myself. Perhaps my detachment attempts are being conveyed in cold ways, I don’t know. Michelle wanted me to express more happiness and pride in her visit to the clinic today. I feel like I don’t want to be emotionally invested in her success or failure. I’m sorry she sees this as me not perceiving how important it is to her and to our relationship. I have been on this hellish roller coaster ride of hope and disappointment, and I want to get off. On the train this morning, I think I said all the right things, keeping it positive, trying not to let my sense of despair show. But I am quiet, and she senses something has changed. She wants me to realize how impressive it is that the disease didn’t accelerate faster, but I think one reason is that I’ve been carrying her and trying to protect her from her fall. I have to let everything be her decision. On the train, thinking, “This might be the last time we see each other.” Not saying it. While I’m away at my friend’s house, in NJ, at the beach, she could take her last shot and OD. But she might do it even if I’m there. I hate seeing the spots of blood on the towel and on the sheets. I’ve stopped going in her phone, and I’m done searching her bag and pockets. I surrender. Like al-anon says, I’m powerless over the addict and the addiction. She can’t be scared into stopping for me or for fear of losing me. She loves me the most in the world and it’s not enough. Okay, I accept that. So I have to find comfort and support elsewhere, but I have isolated myself. That’s why it’s great that I’m going to the beach. I hate that Tati (my cat) sees her getting high. She asked me watch “the last time,” like a goodbye ceremony, but as I know there’s no one “last time,” I felt uncomfortable and declined. She looked terrible this morning. Still, leaning back on her chest in the smoking chair, I felt all her firm heat and so much love and I know that I still hope with all my heart to have her back and healthy. Still, the fact that I feel so codependent, the fact that I feel I can’t even imagine myself surviving if I lost her, the way my fate feels bound to hers and all this depresses me and makes my face a permanent frown. The times she has roused my hopes, giving me encouraging speeches on how she is going to get better and be there for me, that we’re a team, that she is not abandoning me, these are the highs. The highs and lows of being addicted to an addict. A roller coaster ride of bliss and despair. Playing the martyr. Being god, being a savior. These roles need to be given up. They aren’t helpful. If I want my wife to recover, I have to be flexible, patient, take things day by day, “let go and let god,” and focus on my own happiness. The last thing is the hardest part. My own life feels too hard. I have a terrible memory, I miss appointments, I have low self esteem, and I’m terrified of failure. The economy scares me also. The great changes taking place are undeniable and I think many people won’t survive. The future is inconceivable. We can only take it “day by day.” This whole process has, in some ways, made me feel even more love for Michelle, and I can see many opportunities to grow and learn here. I’m committed to her. If it was any other terminal illness, I would not abandon her. I would accompany her to her last day on earth. Being with her, looking at her, I have to walk this fine line, showing affection and encouragement while constantly aware of mortality and the figure of death hovering around her darkly circled eyes. The idea of life without her definitely seems not worth living. I don’t feel I have what it takes to be successful in this world. I am overwhelmed by all I see and hear. What god is providing now, a comfortable job and access to education, the love of Michelle, and a place to live- all seem as if they might be stripped from me at any time, and for some people, everything is lost at once. I’m lucky to have what I have. But the gratefulness I feel is tainted by terror.