Limiting Reactants

So we've talked, and he's giving me a choice – I can stay here and suck it up and hope to get into a N-sing school in a few years, or I can go back home and go to N-sing school right away, probably with a scholarship. He doesn't really want to give up the kids, he says, but he doesn't really see himself taking care of them on his own either. And I'd have my parents there to help. And believe me they WANT to help.

That would mean 18-24 months apart. I think that sounds like the end, don't you?

He will not move. Steadfastly refuses, throwing out one excuse after another, which all come down to the same thing.

And I'm staying for now because I don't want to hurt him or disrupt the kids' lives.

And I'm asking myself -- why am I so hesitant to hurt him, when all through our marriage I've done everything, sacrificed everything that I've wanted, to keep him comfortable? And all I've ever gotten back is that 'he's trying', and 'he's always thought that I'd leave anyway.' Trying what? To push me away? Because he's succeeding. I've been getting by on the bare minimum for a long time now, and so have the kids.

It was another year of carving pumpkins alone, of trick-or-treating alone. The only thing that brought him home from his parents' house in time to yell at them for various trespasses before we went out the door, was that I think he heard something in my voice that said, “Go ahead and stay over there. I've got it all handled.” No anger. No bitterness. No frustration. No stoic resolve. But self-reliance. It brought him right home.

We have very little income right now. We're living like trust-fund babies off some investments that have paid off nicely, but are of course finite. He will not look for anything else to do and he's in the buggy-whip profession.* Another option presented to me is to go out and find a job of my own, any job. But the thought of what daycare would cost, of trying to FIND good yet cheap daycare,** of how my grades would drop...I look at the bigger picture and it's not worth it. And it starts me thinking about how I could just as easily do all that on my own anyway, without beer and cigarette money flying out the door...and if I lived back home daycare would be free...

But there lies a honey trap. The last time they visited, my parents individually took me aside and told me to leave him. They stayed with us and they watched his behavior. And he was on his best behavior, that's the really sad part. Leave him, they say, come home, we'll watch the kids, you can go to school, there are connections and networks here that would get you a job in your field instantly, (some from my mom and some that I've maintained for 20 years). We'll all do things together like go to the theater, the symphony, this that and the other. On top of that I have my Catholic parents blessing to leave my marriage. Oh my God.***

It sounds so good, doesn't it? But all that sweet support has a trapdoor that opens unexpectedly. My mom says they'll have no trouble watching the kids, and I think she believes it, but I've seen it in action. She likes to play martyr at inopportune times. And my parents travel more now that they are retired. Summer it was Tuscany. Winter it will be a Mediterranean cruise. Last month was spent in Florida (with encouragement to 'come down here and look at these houses! We're looking at them, and they have a state-of-the-art facility that you'd love, with a full-paid tuition on the promise that you'd work there for two years. And there's a charter school for the kids that is incredible. It's BEAUTIFUL down here! Think about it!' We'd help!)

They want me back. I think at any cost. Except one; they will not move out here. So I can't quite trust them. That, and I don't want to get stuck living in my old hometown. I don't think. Jury's still out on that one. No, there's another place I want to live, somewhere close to the ocean.

And there's a big black spider in the honey trap, and until she's dead I will not trust that my parents will keep my kids properly supervised around her, let alone avoid her completely.

So I'm sitting in the library writing this instead of figuring out how to determine the limiting reactants – the beginning substances in a chemical reaction whose scarcity limits the amount of product produced.

But maybe that's what I'm actually doing here, too.

*He keeps trying to make those buggy-whips pay though, trying to make them pay enough out for us and for his parents, because our finances are Gordian-knotted together. If only he'd put the same energy into a relationship with his children. Instead they get the frustration hurled at them.

**We can't even keep a tutor at this point – he 'forgot' to bring them to a session and so pissed off one, and the latest, well, he can't figure out what happened with her but I think I can.

***Hell, my dad's comment was, 'you were too quick to marry.' I could write another post on THIS and how fucked up it is, and I will at some point.

First Timer

So I've been doing some things to change this situation. No, not change the situation; I'm learning I can't do that. It's up to him to change what he's doing. I've voiced my discontent, my anger. That's all I can do about it as it stands. The things I can do are change my own behavior, and/or get the hell out.

I've been building my safety net. Telling you guys was the first step. I'm done hiding his problems away from the world.

I'm getting money together to open another savings account in a different bank. Updating my resume. Looking for entry-level jobs in my new field, for when the kids go back to school in the fall. I'm getting help from a friend who lives here, a fellow Blogger, j c m j, who has been my sister since we met in high school. I told her everything that happened. And she knows me well enough to know that while I can always see the big picture, I just can't always see the details, and I really can't carry some of them out without a shove.

"When it comes down to it," I said, "I'm really just a head in a jar."

"Yes, but you're a good head in a jar." she replied. And she offered to be my hands.

The other thing I did today was attend my first Al-Anon meeting. I cried like a fucking baby through the whole thing. Which was strange for me because I don't cry much outside of sad movies where animals and/or children die. I smile, I laugh, I nod knowingly, I make obscene jokes, I shoot out poisonous barbs when stepped on (and sometimes just for the hell of it). I don't cry.

One of the women afterwards told me it was ok, everybody does that the first time. It's a good sign; it means I felt safe enough for it. So.

My parents are coming out next week. My mom knows what's going on, I don't know if my dad knows. He has a very hot temper. Should be fun.

Mu husband and I are currently in the 'hearts and flowers' phase of this little dance that we do, that apparently so many addicts and their loved ones do. He's treating me with kid gloves, complimenting me at every turn, picking up more of the housework, being incredibly patient with the kids. He even went all day yesterday without a drink. Usually, this behavior would give me hope that things were Finally Normal and that I could Relax Now (not that I've relaxed for years) because it was Just Me Blowing a Situation Out of Proportion. But it's different this time. Because his behavior is wrong, even now. It's manipulative. Good or bad, the behavior is manipulative. I see that now.

Ok. Got to get on with what I'm supposed to be doing right now.

Thank you again. SO much.


P.S. Lady of the Dark Brew, I will call you later when I'm home.

Water

It's been quieter. Until last night.

I got home late. He said the kids had been good while I was gone. A relief for me. It was getting late, and they were still outside. I herded them in, checked my email while he went down the hall to help them get ready for bed. Then the yelling started.

I went to their room. They were messing around, not getting their pjs on quickly. Stalling. Nothing new. But the youngest was starting to get worked up. The youngest is sensitive, sometimes needs to be treated with kid gloves, especially when a meal is skipped. I'd left food, I'd been making food for a friend's party all day. But there's this disconnect between my husband and dinner. If he's not hungry, then why bother with dinner? And I have to be away three nights a week this summer. Anyway, I'm drifting. I'm tired.

So the youngest had gotten worked up in the space of two minutes while I checked my email. And called dad a name. And dad did not like that. Of course not, who would?

The problem is, dad had had too much to drink again, and had no patience whatsoever. He was in the youngest's face. It was difficult to determine who was the child and who was the adult. So I intervened, told my husband to just go, cool off, I've got it. I said this calmly. I do everything calmly.

The youngest went into the bathroom to brush teeth. My other kid was in there already. I loaded up brushes with toothpaste, supervised. The youngest was still crying. The youngest was tired. It was late. I had things under control.

And then something hit me from behind, hit the youngest in the face. A cup of water. My husband threw a cup of water on us, on my youngest.

I yelled. I know I yelled because my throat was sore afterwards. I swung around and hit my husband in the arm. I can't believe I did that. And in front of my kids.

I yelled at him to go, just go. Get out. Go downstairs and cool off. He wouldn't. He stood in the doorway. He was so angry. He said he did it to shut the kid up. He wouldn't budge. I wanted to get out of there, get my youngest into dry pjs, get myself dried off.

I don't even remember if I pushed past him, or if he finally got out of the way. I got the youngest calmed down and into dry pjs The oldest took everything in stride. Too much in stride. Way too much in stride. They picked out books and I read to them. I could hear him in the kitchen, doing a chore he never does normally, and never at this time of night. He's usually on the computer while I put the kids to bed. Then he goes in to kiss them goodnight.

I came out to the kitchen after reading. Still wet. He didn't acknowledge me. I asked him if he was going to go in and tell them goodnight. He said they could wait. I could hear them getting wound up again. One came out, asking after dad. He followed the kid back in. I could hear him lecturing.

So of course we had a fight when he got back to the kitchen. And it boils down to this. He wasn't sorry. The kid deserved it, and I was just in the way. And why was I upset about that? I was just in the way. I told him it didn't matter, if he hit one of the kids, he hit me, whether I was there or not. He said I always sided with them. (As if this were a war.) I went back to saying that I couldn't believe what he just did. He said he deserved an apology, from the kid and from me. That I never make the kids apologize to him when something like this happens.

This seems so fucked up to me. Why should they have to apologize for this? For the name-calling yes, of course. And I would have told the kid to do just that. But first the kid needed to calm down. And that wasn't going to happen with a drunk father yelling in the face.

All of this is not how I thought it was going to be. But my question is, is it normal?

Because I don't know. I don't know if I should be packing us into the car right now, or if I'm being dramatic. It was water, not a fist. It was just water, but I don't think I've ever felt so humiliated. And I don't know what it's doing to the kids.

It's not even the water. It's the lack of remorse from him. But should I expect remorse? Am I asking too much? Am I in the wrong? Does he deserve an apology?

The kid is young. The kid was tired. I don't think this is right.

What's normal?

Oh, and today's our 15th anniversary.

The Real Story

My husband is an alcoholic.

It's been getting worse. Since his business changed and provided him with more free time, his drinking has increased and his tolerance lowered. When he's home, I watch him watch the clock, waiting for noon when he can pop the cap on his first beer.

He doesn't stop until most if not all of it is gone. He buys beer by the case.

He tried, on his own, to stop, not too long ago. He had a talk with a friend who quit drinking. It took my husband three months to work up the resolve to go a day without beer. He didn't tell me what he was doing, and I didn't say anything. Five days passed, Then on Friday he came home with a full case. He told me he was going to stop drinking during the week, that he was drinking too much lately. He'd only drink on the weekends. I told him I was proud of him and his decision. I told him I thought it had been getting out of control too. I would do what I could to help him.

He's always loved beer. He's always been able to drink on a regular basis without any major personality changes. That changed after he started his plan. He binged on the weekends, sometimes drinking 18-24 bottles in a day. So now it brings out the worst in him. His cynicism, his paranoia, his insecurities, his need to control things, his temper. And he won't see it.

Sometimes it makes him remorseful. He starts apologizing to me; for the house, for spending years working 7 days a week, for 'making' me move out here away from all my friends and family and my one shot at my 'dream job'. He tells me I got the shitty end of the stick. He makes promises – we'll get you back home for a visit, we'll get those repairs done to the house, we'll get you a housekeeper. We've got the money for it. We've got all this money now. Don't you worry.

I hate this more than when he's yelling in my face.

But not as much as I hate it when he's yelling in our children's faces.

He expects them to understand things. How busy he is, how he doesn't have time to watch them or play with them because he's on the computer trying to make money, don't they understand how he has to make money so we can afford their toys, their food, the roof over their heads?

They aren't in elementary school yet.

He quit smoking on Mother's Day. It was my job to keep the kids away from him, since he was 'going to be cranky'. I kept them busy as best I could. We did stuff in the yard. We painted. We planted seeds. It still didn't work. They still bothered him. Then I bothered him when I asked if instead of me making dinner we could order a pizza or something. It's too expensive, he said, downing his 12^th imported beer of the day. Then when I started cooking, he got mad. Said I was pouting. Shoved money at me and told me to go get something.

That was my Mother's Day. I've had worse. There was the year we were in another city for his family reunion, when my babies were 8 months old, and I had to find a drugstore on foot to buy him some Pepto for his hangover at five in the morning. I'd been up most of the night taking care of the babies who were cranky, and wondering when he'd get back from drinking with his cousins. The next day his sister thrust her new diamond ring in my face and asked me what I'd gotten. This was before church with the family, my husband staying in the rental car during the service, puking out the window onto the parking lot. Back out at the car, he admitted with a laugh to his mother and to me that he hadn't had a chance to get either of us anything. I thought he was joking. He wasn't. My MIL didn't care, since she'd gotten something nice from her daughter and her husband.

He still hasn't found the time to get anything. But gifts aren't really the point here.

I digress. I want to focus on what is happening now, I have to get things down and look at them, and decide what to do.

The more I write, the angrier I get. It's a bad, cold anger, sitting in the pit of my stomach.

He's smoking again. So Mother's Day was a wasted effort. I think, actually, quitting smoking was an excuse to start drinking all week again, because he is. And his tolerance is still lowered.

I'm doing what I can to fix things. I'm back in school, hopefully headed for a degree that will allow me to bring in some pretty good money. I tell him it will benefit all of us. We can get things done to the house. We won't have to worry. And I'll be setting down even more roots here.

He is supportive of this. To a point. There is an old pattern here too. Long before the kids, I was interviewing for my boss's newly-vacant, much better-paying position. I was in the shower, going over what I'd say in the interview, when he came in an asked me if I was planning to leave him once the job was mine. This was out of nowhere. We were getting along great. This was his insecurity rearing its ugly head. I reassured him I was going nowhere, how could he think this? It was the old argument; he'd 'forced' me to leave my home.

I hate this argument. It leaves no room for love. It leaves no room for faith. It leaves no room for free-will, for making a choice and not looking back. I think it's fair to say it belittles me.

He's doing it again. We had a huge fight over the past weekend. He was drunk, he was picking on one of our children. I tried to break it up. It was a simple matter; let the kid go out into the yard first, get settled on the swing, then go out yourself and work on whatever project you accuse him of preventing you from finishing. I didn't say it this way, of course. I told him to stay inside for a minute and we could finish having our conversation. He said we weren't having a conversation, and I said, yes, we were, I had been talking about, of all things, coupons I'd just received, and how they related to an article he'd read to me the day before about the failing economy. He turned on me, he yelled, I tried to calm him down, and I realized then that he was drunk beyond reasoning with. Things spiraled. I was taking the kids' side, he said. He had things he needed to do in the yard, he said, and the kids and I were keeping him from it.

Then he accused me of always talking about a different part of the country, with the implication that I was going to run away there. Here's where I spoke up and refuted him. I'd visited this place once, to see some of our old friends, and it bothered him so much at the time that he stopped talking to them for a while, so after that I stopped talking about that place completely. (I stopped talking about ANY place. The last time I asked if I could go somewhere, he said, “You do and I'll fucking kill you.” So I don't talk about other places anymore.) He said I'd been talking about that place the week before. I told him to remind me of that incident, because I was making a point of not mentioning that place. He couldn't remember, but he was SURE I'd been talking about it.

Then he changed tactics. I've been complaining about school, about the inability to get into the program I need because of a ridiculously long waiting list, and how two of my other classmates who were moving were able to find placement in other programs before even finishing their pre-recs. He said I was always complaining about the weather, my school, the lack of summer programs for the kids, the house, everything about this place. He turned this into 'you hate this state, and by proxy hate me.' I tried to tell him how this made no sense, how he complained about the weather, the lack of programs, etc. right along with me, and louder. I reminded him that only a few years ago HE was talking about moving to another state, and bringing his entire extended family with us 'for their own safety'. But it was different for him, he said. Yeah.

Note to self: Things I shouldn't discuss in the negative but get to hear about in the negative ad nauseum:

School

The kids' school

The house

The suburbs

The weather

Things I am not to bring up at all:

Finishing old projects before new ones are started

Other parts of the country

Politics

My writing (He's tired of hearing about it, because he's had to 'live' with it)

He told me that he was doing the best he could. He told me that he'd done one good thing in his life and that was selling some property at the right time, that that was his one Home Run. So I could just take everything, the house and everything in it, the stocks, the bank accounts, and he would just move into the back of his store. He figured I was just going to leave anyway, he'd come home one day and I'd be gone, and he wasn't even sure if I'd take the kids with me. Then he threw in my face the time I was on some hormones for my health, and how I'd told him I was having intrusive thoughts about harming myself. We've been over this. When it started, I went off the meds, and I told him why. Now he was accusing me of being suicidal, and that he couldn't trust me.

So I spent the rest of the argument trying to reassure him, and telling him that I loved him, that I wasn't gong anywhere, I wasn't going to harm myself, nothing was his fault, he's done a fine job, etc.

And I didn't sleep that night. And the next day I emailed my 'forbidden friend.' And she called me back almost instantly. And we talked a bit. And I decided to write it all down. And debated sharing it with anyone else.

And decided I would. And here you are, I hope.

I've invited ladies only. I'm not looking for some white knight. And with one exception, I've only invited (for now) people who don't know him, because I've been in situations when a couple is fighting and I've had to look one of them in the eye and hide what I've heard. I don't want to do that to anybody else.

I don't even know if I'm looking for advice, if I'm looking for someone to say, 'stick with him' or 'dump him' or anything at all. I think I'm jut trying to get it out, and I want someone to see, because I'm in a lonely place here, where I never, ever thought I'd be.

I tell myself that MUST stay. I've made vows. I've got kids who need two parents. I've got nothing else. I still love him. Things are great when he's sober.

And if I leave (and I WOULD take the kids, thank you very much), he'll just say “I told you so.” I'll prove him right -- that I am not to be trusted. And for someone with trust issues herself, well, that's crushing.

I tell myself that I just need to be stronger. That I could be in a worse situation.

Thank you.