The Art of Living With an Alcoholic
Life creeps up on us in unexpected ways.
I have always said that if life is going perfect, and if you have everything you want, you are due to have life give you a swift kick in the teeth.
She didn’t disappoint.
This year, on Super Bowl Sunday, I discovered my husband of 9 years, 3 months, and 9 days, was a closet drinker.
As it all unravels now, I just need a moment of reflection on how it got here. For the last 8 years, I had no idea.
That’s a lie.
I knew there was a problem, but no matter how hard I looked, I could never find alcohol or drugs. Hiding stuff from me is not easy. I searched the closets — every nook — in the cabinets, hidden cubbies….
Nothing.
But as I watched him fall down the stairs, face planted into a hot bowl of soup, and run into walls, I knew something was not normal.
I was mystified.
He said I was crazy.
I felt crazy.
I looked into his eyes and knew something was wrong. Over 30 years and a million experiences, and I’d never seen anything like it.
