No Hero

 “Cut my life into pieces

This is my last resort.

Suffocation

No breathing 

Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm

Bleeding”

~Papa Roach

This song echos through my mind a lot. Especially when I am going through an angry phase. 

Like right now.

Why do I have to bear the weight of his addiction alone? Why does everyone else get to leave, shaking their heads at what a shame it is and then go off to their safe happy homes, leaving me to my hell? 

Why does no one STAY?

Last night was a bad night. It’s actually been four to five bad nights in a row. I couldn’t sleep, and I got to thinking. 

Why, when an alcoholic finally decides to get clean, do they get to go off to some rehab center, take 30 to 90 days off, meals prepared for them, activities, counseling, and then come home and be hailed as heroes for beating their addiction? 

Where is the rehab for the families who survived the alcoholic’s addiction? Where is my intensive counseling? When do I get to leave for 30 to 90 days and get the necessary treatment to exorcise the demons imposed on me by the alcoholic.

The answer? Never. I never get that. WE never get that.

What do we get? We get told how amazingly brave our spouse or partner is for tackling their addiction head on. We get asked if we are so grateful to have our spouse back. We are told that it’s wonderful that our children have such an amazing role model…this parent who had an addiction, fought it and won. 

Well what the hell am I then? Only the person who refused to let him stay passed out drunk in his truck in negative zero weather. The person who stood as a shield between his abuse and the kids. Taking all the abuse on myself so they wouldn’t have to experience it. The person who begged, cried, yelled, screamed, and reasoned with the alcoholic to get help. The person who looked up symptoms on the internet and how to treat them when the alcoholic was coughing up blood, or sweating profusely, or disoriented, and refusing to seek medical treatment. The person who took care of all the kids activities, sports, play dates, schooling, trips, and medical stuff because the alcoholic couldn’t do any of that. 

Where is MY rehab? Why do partners and spouses of alcoholics have to be so goddam happy when their recovering alcoholic returns home from rehab? How on earth does anyone expect us to “just get over it”. We don’t get to forget the awful things said to us. We don’t get to forget the fear and the tears, and the panic. 

Many of us live with undiagnosed PTSD. And after our partner has recovered, we are just expected to be suddenly HAPPY.

Trauma doesn’t work that way. 

My alcoholic hasn’t recovered and as of right now, has no plans to go to rehab. But he could, at any moment, decide to, and his stay at a resort like, state of the art rehabilitation facility would be covered by insurance.

Meanwhile, the lyrics I quoted at the beginning of this post accurately describe how I feel at least 80% of the time, and I can’t even get counseling sessions covered by insurance.