Quack Quack Quack

If it quacks like a duck, it must be a duck.

I've finally figured out what all the soberrecovery folks mean when they reference an addict's "quacking."

I got home from my parents' tonight, fresh off of blogging about how I fell in love with him, thinking of how we'd planned to have a wonderful night of nakedness when I got back from out of town, and instead, we had a blood-curdling, screaming, horrible fight. I'm not even sure what it's about...I think it's about a lot of things.

As soon as I came in the door, things felt off somehow. G wouldn't look me in my eyes. He kissed me, but it felt forced. He'd called me when I was on the way home and asked me if he could borrow $40, and OF COURSE the answer is "no." Shortly after I got home, he wanted to use my phone, and then he wanted to use the car. I told him he couldn't use the car, and it turned into a huge quack-fest. He can't live this way, his home is like a prison, I'm unreasonable, he's over drugs, he'll never be over drugs if I won't let him move on, how can he make money if I'll never let him use the car, etc. etc. etc.

It was so disappointing. I'd had such high expectations for the evening, and I'd missed him, and I'd been eager to see him, to lie on the couch together, to smell his armpits, to feel close. Before we'd even really touched each other, he was going to leave me. He called his parents and asked them if he could stay there for a few days.

To be fair, I provoked the threats to leave. I told him that if he thought I was treating him unfairly, he should maybe go somewhere else where people might be more reasonable. He'd said he'd go to his parents' house, and I offered to give him a ride. I can't believe I was able to be so cold/strong or strong/cold. I'm not sure if it was the right stance, but it felt right to me.

I don't know how to stop myself from engaging his fits. Everyone in my meeting says that when an addict is getting all riled up, he or she is trying to make an emotional standoff, drag you into their madness, and create a situation where he or she can go use and have someone outside of the self to blame. The best way to handle these situations is just to say "Yes. Mmmm hmmmm. Ahhhh." Refuse to engage.

It is hard to refuse to engage when I'm being accused. No matter what he says, I know that he knows I've given him a damn fair shake. I've nursed him through withdrawal, paid our bills, fed him, washed his clothes, and taken care of everything for a long time now. I've been tender and patient with him, and I haven't nagged about what I think he needs to be doing for his recovery (attending meetings regularly, getting a sponsor, etc.). I think a lot of people, maybe most people, would have left. I certainly would have left anyone else. He has stolen from me, lied to me, and put my health and safety in danger, and I am standing by him.

God, I am sitting her justifying to myself that I'm a good wife. It should be clear to me that I'm a good wife.

He got very angry because he said that several times last week I humiliated him in front of friends. He didn't act upset at the time, but I think some of what tonight's episode was about is that he was actually angry at me for criticizing him in front of friends. I said in front of a friend that if he didn't go back to work by Tuesday, I was going to ask him to go live somewhere else. I should not have put him out there like that, and I admit it was wrong. However, it was true, and by saying it out loud to people, I was taking a stand on an issue that I intended to stick. I still mean it--if he isn't working by Tuesday, then I want for him to start living somewhere else. I cannot continue to support him, no matter what. It's making me hate him, and he's got to be able to provide for himself. The more he rejects that position, the more it sticks for me.

I thought at first that I could be patient about work like the other women in my group, but I can't. It's been two months, and it's time for him to start working, or at least attempting to.

He said tonight that he doesn't want to tattoo anymore...that he wants to do manual labor now. I don't know what I think about that. I think part of it, which he denies, is that he is afraid to go back to his job because he's told so many lies. He's really set himself up for failure there. He says that it feels good to do manual labor, and that he thinks it would be good to get up in the morning, do a day's work, and come home at night tired. I agree that there's something wonderful about that kind of work, and there might be something healing in it for him. I don't think, however, that the possible therapeutic advantages of having that kind of work are worth giving up the opportunity he has to work where he is starting on Tuesday. I also think that he has a talent, that he took to tattooing like a fucking duck to water (quack quack), and that it would be a great waste for him to quit this early in his career.

Also, in typical Junky's Wife fashion, I began reflecting on what a great waste of my own life him giving up tattooing would be. I hate this town. It's something of a soul-less wasteland. I have a cool job, and I like what I do a lot; however, the pay is lousy, and a big part of why I've stuck with the job for so long is because it's good for his career.

See how I'm so glum? It's a lifelong habit--regret the past, fear the future. I have never learned to appreciate each day, one day at a time, and I suppose that's because so often individual days have been bad.

I'm also afraid that we're losing something precious. People can't love each other with this much anger flowing in both directions. I don't want to be miserable all the time. I don't want to feel like I'd be better off without him. God knows I'll never love anyone else as much.

I wish I knew what to do. Sometimes I wish he would just leave me.