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!


The Nature of the Monster

Open heart surgery, I think, would have been so much more easier than going through this – not that I am undermining open heart surgery, please don’t get me wrong, but this is an ever evolving monster with no meds to cure it or the symptoms.   The complete obliteration of the super fantasy in my head of the ‘happy family’ and spoken lies, from not so long ago, of  “you have stolen my heart, and I want to grow old with you” have haunted me, was sold to me.  Thoughts like:

  • years after the marriage, the addiction, the struggles, the broken promises, the affair and finally  ‘The Event’, this story will be remembered by my children, deeply, retold to their children, my grandchildren.
  • ‘family’ visits will always be a juggle for my children and for me.  Who sees who when? Not to forget the side order of emotional crap to go with that – for the rest of this lifetime.
  • Sharing room space and important events with a person who I completely disrespect, weddings, births, funerals…… moments which may be important to my children. Those will always be plagued with this legacy.  That is why (my therapist says is more than normal) “death” would be so much easier for many people to endure…. far less shit to contend with.
I am still married and in the midst of divorce proceedings.  The waste of money makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach.  We separated under the conditions of staying true to our marital oaths and that after a year apart we would sit down and see where we both were at, where our children were at, after all we were married for almost 20 years.  But true to 20 years of destructive patterns he as plagued this process too with a third party forcibly thrown into the mix – no doubt twisting his tale into one of  ‘poor me’. I am convinced there is a handbook out there written and followed by many on how to be the perfect victim. Hindsight they say is always 20/20 vision and clearly this fuckwit has never really had anything other than his own “happiness” (I use this term loosely) in mind (I was going to use the word heart, but that would indicate he has one… therefore changed).
Now I look to me and how naive I was to have trusted his empty words and broken promises.  This blog will be a Eulogy of all I have been through told as honestly and soberly as I can – It is my wish that others post their stories because alone in this I am not and neither should anyone else be going through this.
Pixling signs…over and out.