The Chronic Illness Cycle of DOOM

Oh yes. Addiction can be a never ending battle when you are struggling with a chronic illness/pain.

My husband has had 26+ surgeries on his feet that are nothing but trouble. Last September they amputated his right leg below the knee. It was a huge blow. It was a long recovery. It was expensive and required him to take narcotics. He was able to start a Suboxone program in January and hadn't taken Narcotics since then.

It was too good to last. Yesterday I admitted him back into the hospital with a doozy of an ulcer on his left foot. There have not been any decisions made, but he may now lose his other leg in the next few days.

A double amputee.

He is heartbroken. And angry. And back on Narcotics.

We feel like all the work, suffering, and effort to get off was a waste of time. And all the other times he has gotten off drugs only to be required to take them again because of an injury or surgery? Those were a waste of time too. It seems so unfair that he is asked to do this over and over and over again. Each time his strength and determination is less. It's killing him.

I hate addiction.

It doesn't play fair.

You might be the wife of an addict if........

You have slept with the car keys in your pillowcase so he doesn't sneak out.

You have come up with hiding places that the Easter Bunny would envy.

You have talked Pharmacists into giving you all kinds of information that's illegal.

You can look into the eyes of your husband and know EXACTLY what he's taken.

You have dumped hundreds of dollars worth of medication down your toilet.

You absolutely relish the good times, because you've tasted the bad.

Every once in awhile you see the man you married and your heart swells.

You know all his hiding places too.

You have tried to gracefully exit a family party with a high husband in tow.

You wish someone would fix it, but nobody can.

You run the show......more like his mother than his wife.

You wake up at night to make sure he's breathing.

You have a plan in place if one night he isn't.

You struggle to know what to say to your kids. What's age appropriate?

Your heart swells with pride when you can see him really trying.

Your heart breaks in half when he fails.

You are at times angry, sad, frustrated, furious, unkind, and tired.

You gladly take on life as a single mom as he struggles through months of treatment.

You hope.

You doubt decisions you have made. And the ones you are making right now, too.

You get angry when other just see the addict and not the man.

You have been shocked to find empty pill bottles in strange places.

You have gotten calls from pharmacies.

You have sent your husband to court and then spent an hour on your knees.

You cry in the bathtub, because if he hears you it only adds to his shame.

You know more than you ever wanted to about addiction and the 12 step program.

You have compassion and insight and love for an out casted group of people....and their wives.

You have been humiliated by him.

You have laughed at some crazy high behavior, in an effort not to scream or cry, or both.

You have felt the bondage of addiction and have never abused anything.

You have suffered the consequences of his decisions.

His behavior has affected friendships, family relationships, and your marriage.

You have taken his name off bank accounts, cut up credit cards and taken away vehicles.

You know too well how to "burn bridges" with doctor's offices.

You still love him.

You have more faith, hope, and strength than you ever knew possible.

In the end you are a better person because of it all.

Anger and whys....

Oh yes, the anger and the why's. They are both so ugly, complicated and eluding, and yet such an intrical portion of the life of an addicts wife.

I am angry today. Really angry. I look around at my neighbors and read my friend's blogs and it fills me with anger. I KNOW they all struggle with trials. I know this. But does that knowledge help me feel less akward or angry? No. Especially today. I mowed my lawn by myself. Just like I have for the last 4 years. I waved at my neighbor's husbands as they mowed as well. I was called by the Elder's Quorum President, because now that my husband is no longer in the home, I need new home teachers. "Can they come by and talk with me? Fulfill any needs I may have? " I want to say Heck yeah! And bring your lawnmower! But pride gets me. If my husband had surgery or had died I would have no problems being the ward service project. He is just an addict who is too depressed to take care of us. And it makes me angry. I chose very carefully a man who was driven, educated, and spiritual to marry. I married a man who on my 21st birthday, two months before we were married, bought me new scriptures with my new name on them. And wrote his testimony in the front. And now I have a husband who sneaks out of church meetings or doesn't go at all. The third year we were married he left me at home having a miscarriage because he couldn't stand not going to see the Priesthood session of confrence. And now? I feel cheated. Like I bought a bag of M&M's and got home to open them up and find they are beans!!! (I know....MAJOR disappointment and deception!) I also know that Addiction is a disease. I know that there was really no way to escape it. He has had >28 surgeries in our 10 years of marriage. He is not the only addict in his family so there is obviously a genetic disposition. His brain has been physically altered because of this disease. He is not in control of his actions much of the time. I have been told this. I know it. I am still angry. I am angry that he makes any decision that he finds self-serving and I suffer the consequences of it. We have lost a house and are the brink of bankruptcy. Our credit is laughable. I field the phone calls and try to find solutions. He seems unable to handle any of it. Yet he is still able to dig us a little deeper. His name is no longer on a bank account at all. And I sleep with the keys in my pillowcase so he can't sneak out. I am the jailer, his mother, his maid, and his punisher. All I wanted to be was his companion, his wife, and his friend.

Hand in hand with the anger are the whys. They go together. (Just like that Grease song. Did you sing it in your head too?) Oh they whys will get you every time. Why him? He was such a great man. Loving, kind, he's never even raised his voice to me or dreamed of calling me a name! He was smart and funny, the life of the party. He was a great dad, played with our babies and changed diapers. Why him? Why this? Why can't he get it together? Why can't I find anything that helps? Why does he do things that humiliate me? Why does he use and steal from my parents? Why doesn't he help me? Why does it seem that I don't even appear on his list of priorities anymore? WHY WHY WHY.

Ugh. I have worked through all these feeling before. I have knowledge and have been educated about addiction. We have been living this for 6 years. It's not our first rodeo. These feeling come back time and time again. They are the trial of the wife of an addict.

And I forgot lying.....oh but lying deserves a post of it's very own.

Enough bitterness from me tonight. I need to have a hot bubble bath and climb into clean sheets.

Broken hearted

If nothing else, I am for sure broken hearted. I kicked my husband out today. I have begun to make arrangements to live as a single mother. So many things about this decision bring me hope. And relief. I cannot physically do everything there is to do. I work full time and I cannot work outside the home, meals, laundry, homework, cleaning, etc. I am worn out. If he were gone it would cut my work load in half. Everything he touches breaks and he is constantly spilling, dropping things, and cannot put anything away. I feel like I am his maid. Another big thing in this corner is that the effects of living with a drug addict are taking their toll on my children. They are confused about lying. Is it okay? Is it not? There is a bit of fascination about medicines. They are fearful of being left with him. And now scared of police from a traffic stop incident. When I am work, they aren't fed, they fend for themselves. He yells at them and they call me crying. Everyday for the last two weeks.

Also, and this is perhaps the second biggest reason I need to move on is the lying. I have been lied to, to my face, every day for the last 4 years. By the person who is supposed to love me the most. Who will insist on his love for me if you just ask him. He just doesn't show it. He lies, and he steals money from me. He makes up stories and tells half truths. I am constantly playing detective, and I never wanted another job.

But to walk away breaks my heart. And I wonder if I am strong enough to actually do it. Part of me is still so in love with the man I married and to walk away from the monster feels like giving up on him. I vowed to stay. I vowed to always be on his team and to always try. And now I want to walk away. And the thought of it brings actual pain to my chest. And tears to my eyes. I don't want to leave. I don't want to do it on my own. I don't want someone else. I want my husband. I desperately need him. My heart aches for him. But I can't find him. I've been looking really closely, and I can't see him in there anymore. I'm not sure if that means he's gone forever or not. What if I leave and he comes back? What if I stay and he doesn't? There are no right answers and I feel so alone. And yet it's my responsibility to make one. I just want to scream! I want to go to sleep and not wake up. I want ... I don't know. I am so lost and so alone I don't know anything anymore. I just ache.

The monster at the door...

For the last few years I have struggled with the idea of loving my husband but hating the addict. It is a very complicated idea. It's often impossible for me to seperate the two. Especially lately, when the man I married is getting harder and harder to remember. It's difficult to support and love the person who is causing so much hurt and destruction to your world.

One night, I came home and he was obviously out of it. I yelled, I raged, I may have thrown the remote control, and finally I cried my eyes out in the bathtub. It was that night that an analogy came into my mind. I dried off and came to my computer and wrote it.

It has helped me in immeasurable ways. I read it often. It feels as though it is the raw pit of my struggle. It is everything I feel rolled into a few small paragraphs. I want to share it with anyone who happens upon this site. Perhaps you can relate to my feelings. Perhaps it will validate your sorrows and your anger. Perhaps it will help you put the addiction in a seperate place than the addict. I have often begged my husband to not open the door, and I think it's put his actions into a different perspective for him as well.

The doorbell rings and her head raises. She knows instantly, and turns to him. His head is hanging and he is struggling. He knows as well. Quietly, she starts to talk to him. She whispers words of encouragement as she watches his internal struggle. She questions him about the fight inside. He says nothing. She is running out of words. The doorbell rings again and he begins to rise. In desperation, her voice raises as well. She begs him not to do it. She tries to think of words that will stop him. He begins to walk down the stairs and in a final effort she yells hateful words and threats. Meant to shock him into stopping, meant to hit him where it will hurt him the most. To make him turn around and come back. The words don’t change anything.

He unlocks the door. He turns the bolts, the keys and the chains one by one. All put into place carefully by her. Each lock thought about and used in the best way she knows how. He is scared and he is angry. He begins to cry. As he releases the last lock the door opens. It comes in quickly. It instantly begins to beat him. He fights it, but it is stronger than he will ever be. It strikes him and kicks him until he is on the floor, bleeding and still. It will destroy him first, it will hurt him the worst, but it will not kill him today.

It begins to climb the stairs to find her. She is cowering in an upstairs room. She has gathered her children around her in an effort to protect them against what is to come. Their large eyes look to her as they clutch their blankets. She whispers words of encouragement and prays that the damage that is done today will not cause permanent harm to them. She prays and then she is quiet. She braces against the attack. The children are crying and while it is happening she struggles to hold them to her. To protect them somehow. She endures it silently. She no longer yells or pleads. It won’t help. She knows it too well. She doesn’t shout questions or seek answers from it. She knows why it’s here. She knows its reasoning. She knows its name.