Entry 17: The Alcoholic

My first relationship after my separation and divorce was my co-worker, the one who'd lent me the book on abuse. I'd felt emotionally safe with him, and unlike my husband, we could talk about anything with ease. He'd told me how he'd fixed himself with therapy, Jesus and weight loss surgery, having been an emotional abuser himself at one time. His wife had left him because of it, and his relationship with his three children had been on the brink of collapse, and so he sought help. "I can confidently say that I'm no longer that man," he said, over lunch one day. It was that story and those words that made me fall fast and hard, as there was nothing sexier than a man with that much self awareness.

And so we entered a relationship, with both my feet fully planted in the relationship, while he dragged one foot behind him. "I'm sorry, but I can't fully close the door on the possibility of future reconciliation with my ex-wife," he said. "If she wanted to get back together, I'd have to agree for the sake of the kids. I owe them that after everything I've done." He'd been separated for a year, and there'd be no indication she'd wanted him back, and so I convinced myself that I could live within these conditions. But then I found myself faced with another problem, his addiction to alcohol. He'd done therapy, he'd fixed his addiction to food, but now he'd found a new crutch, one that was much more dangerous. "See that glass? Don't ever let it get empty till I say so," he said to the server, as we all headed out for drinks after work. "I have a very high tolerance to alcohol," he announced. "Eight drinks for me is like four for you." We'd all been skeptical by those words, but to our surprise there he was at the end of the night perfectly fine, just fun and relaxed.

This version of him I liked, with him happy, emotionally present, and affectionate, something I was desperate for. Only, he rarely stopped at eight, with him sometimes reaching 15 drinks in a night. Then I had sloppy, couldn't form sentences or walk a straight line guy at the end of the night, that had forgotten all the nice things he'd said to me. "A drunk man always tells the truth," one of my friends said over coffee. "Even if he doesn't remember what he said to you, that's how he truly feels about you, Ellie."

So, I continued on with the relationship until one day he declared his love for me without alcohol in his veins. The divorce papers had arrived, and I'd now won him by default. Shortly after that, he decided it was time to introduce me to his children, but it had come with conditions. "You're not allowed to spend time with anyone but me and my children on the weekends," he said, over dinner one night. If I'm going to let you be part of my children's life, then we have to be your number one priority. You can see your friends and family during the week, but you're with us Friday night to Sunday night. If you don't comply, then you're not meeting them."

In spite of it feeling controlling, I agreed, desperate for a sense of family I no longer had myself. I pictured us doing day trips, going for ice cream and playing games in the backyard with the children. Only it didn't play out that way, as he sat in the corner of the room, slowly sipping on his rum and soda from morning to night. He'd not be light, nor fun, as I found myself overcompensating for his lack of presence. I'd fallen in love with his children and they'd fallen in love with me, with his one son even telling me how he'd be happy if I became his stepmom, words that had melted my heart. Only, I didn't want to be married to his dad, and the thought filled me with dread. I could feel myself slowly drowning in my role, and as much as I loved spending time with the children every weekend, I needed a partner who was present and sober, and I needed a life that included friends and social events. I'd become so isolated that I no longer recognized myself any longer. I'd done everything I could to make his children's life fun and magical, in order to hide the darkness surrounding them, but in doing that, I'd absorbed the darkness myself.

And so, I decided to leave, which had been one of the hardest decisions I'd ever had to make. I wasn't just leaving an alcoholic boyfriend, but three beautiful children who I'd come to care for deeply, and likely never see again. It was hard knowing that it was now me leaving a dent on their shells, when they already had so many from their past. Twenty years later, I still wonder what became of them. Do any of them have addiction problems themselves, or have they settled into a healthy and stable life in spite of what they experienced? My hope is the latter, and I also hope they remember just how much they were loved by a girl once, who tried her very best, but in the end had no choice but to rescue herself.

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