Re-member-ing instead of Dis-member-ing….

Prior to my separation and then divorce I had no idea just how mad life really was… A case of looking back with my jaw on the floor including a big WTF slamming me in the face.

Living with an addict, dry or powdered (in my case it could and was a lot more, multiple addiction issues), was immense on all levels… This is a small example piece on an aspect of living the unmanageability…

My son recalled a memory of ‘he who must not be named’ ‘s workshop and the only tactile memory which popped up for him (now almost at the age of 18) was the smell of this room… I realised I had filed this memory under ‘unimportant’. How odd, I thought, as this was a daily red hot poker up my ass yet I classified it as ‘detail’ – the memory seeped back into my brain like an old movie and then too I recalled this awful scene, I followed a barrage of detailed memories around this infested workshop, his ‘addiction playground’ I used to call it, in our home – I immediately thought, was I the one ‘pissed and stoned’ for 18 years of my life?! 

(I will furbish a quick synopsis to sketch a brief outline in this interlude – nobody needs to have their imagination milked too much around this, believe me. We had 2 dogs, they were kept inside the workshop at night – cleaning and mopping was not one of his most favourite things to do… ever. Rubbish bags piled up next to the house… ok enough, I can detail this no more, case of a watered down version of trainspotting – on this note however, I raged and screamed, I cried and begged and spoke sugar coated words, I carried and swept and wiped up behind him to the point where I was enabling every bad habit he had fed and nurtured… So I stopped. The result… indescribable….)

It’s like many light bulbs which go on when I am reminded of things like this. It occurs to me every time, and it comes loaded with shame and good dose of a self-flagellating catholic guilt – that being co-dependent on an addict is just as bad, that no matter how self-righteous I thought I was at the time, or how much I played the victim I was choosing to live the same madness daily, with the added bonus of being an enraged succubus, hopeless and tired… dragging my children through that mess with me.  The state of that workshop sybolised the state of our marriage, and the mental and emotional state each of us in this dysfuction.

Everyday post the momentous separation, which happened 6 months after starting my recovery process, I am so aware of how all these things impacted my life, my being, and that years later I am still discovering the devastation and still putting pieces back together. I am grateful that I am able to do this in my safe, (clean) chaos free environment which I was able to create for myself and my children.

Pixling churns… chaos fucks with my serenity!


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