A Friday

I can only begin to describe the emotions that I feel on an average day. I usually feel tired, isolated, suspicious, hurt and unintentionally hopeful. As much as a I try to remain indifferent, that little bit of hope usually manages to sneak its way in. Hope should be positive, it usually is. But when that hope is that someone else will change and overcome an addiction, hope is the enemy.

I had a fairly uneventful day today. I attended University and finished the last bit of lab work for my Masters project. I went to a few meetings and I submitted an assignment. I found it difficult to go in to the University though, as I’d had a horrific panic attack the day before. I’ve suffered from depression and generalised anxiety disorder for the last six years so it wasn’t completely out of the blue, but still took me a full day to recover from. Anyway, despite cancelling a lunch plan because I wasn’t up to it, I had a productive day and came home having accomplished everything that I’d wanted to. I came home and looked forward to meeting a friend for dinner and celebrating the end of term, and one of the last phases of our degrees. I cuddled my boyfriend and we played around in the way that only soppy couples do. He helped me pick out an outfit and we had a nice few hours together.

I then went to the kitchen to make a coffee and saw him acting suspiciously. He immediately closed one of the cupboards and guarded it with his body. I asked to get a biscuit from the cupboard and he made a show of getting it out for me. Even at this point, he thought he could still get away with it. I asked him to move aside and found a half-empty bottle of wine hidden behind the cereal boxes. I think there’s a misapprehension that you’re only an alcoholic if you only drink spirits. I firmly disagree with this. Unfortunately, my partner thinks there is a distinction and has only drank wine, beer and cider (that I know of) since being asked to leave his treatment programme.

He started crying and sank to the kitchen floor and I walked out.

I’m incredibly proud of this gesture. I will not be drawn into the persecutor/victim/rescuer game any longer. I briefly went back into the kitchen, to finally make my coffee, when I’d calmed down. I calmly went about my task and ignored his presence. He was playing the victim but I refused to take the role of the rescuer.

I intend to still meet my friend for dinner tonight and will try not to dwell on it. The depressing thing is that he doesn’t carry around the emotional baggage associated with drinking but I do. It’s difficult for me to not feel ashamed of the events that have happened to me or this strange double life that I lead, but I realise that it isn’t my burden to carry and somehow I need to find a way to put it down.