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When you choose love over alcohol

Him – “Do you want to go to the bathroom and then come to bed?

Me – “No. I don’t want anything. I want another drink.

(Hesitation)

Him – “Well, you can drink more if you want to, but just know it’s not because of a lack of love.”

Well played, sir. Well played.

This exchanged, which happened literally 2 minutes ago, was the first time in years that I had even considered choosing something…someone…over alcohol, when I was already emotional and dead set on it.

We were having a good night and were getting ready for bed, but I had gotten upset about life and didn’t want to go to sleep yet. I felt unloved and alone.

He used my words against me, and they worked. “I can (insert any word here, usually sleep) with love or alcohol, but not neither.

Our marriage has not always been rock solid, and the past year or 2 have been…well, he hasn’t always been the best husband. We’d both admit that. And I’d say the same about myself as well.

But I’ve been screaming my needs during the rocky periods, they’ve been consistent and unchanged. Lately, he has been rock solid. He’s been my husband again, the person I missed out on for the majority of last year. This year has been loads better, but still at points shaky.

But for months…since late summer maybe…he’s been solid and consistent. He’s showed up and he’s loved me through it. And it’s all I’ve ever said I wanted or needed.

Tonight, I actually chose something over alcohol. He used my words against me in the best way possible.

He DIDN’T tell me no (guys, seriously, never tell a person like me ‘no’. Because all we here is ‘oh, twice as much then?’) but he offered me my alternative. He was present and rock solid and unwavering in his offering of love and presence. I pushed and he stayed.

Today started off horribly. It started with me drinking hard liquor at 7am because…why the fuck not? And it was the first time in MONTHS that I had sunk that low. Previously, that was my norm. For nearly 2 years, the constant need to drink was my reality. From morning to night, that was my life.

It took so much fucking work, but I got (mostly) through that. And don’t just full out drink all day, every day anymore.

(No, I’m much more respectable now. I only drink at night now. That means I’m awesome, right?)

So today was a massive emotional setback for me. I contemplated hard about what drinking that early would mean, in terms of me and my history…and I still decided it was an option I needed to take. I knew it was wrong, and I remembered every bad memory of that horrible time of my life while I did it.

But alcohol has that funny way about it. it convinced me that it will ease the unbearable pain I’m up against.

But tonight, I made a different choice.

My go to, guaranteed response is I feel pain. I’m upset. I’m going to drink the shit out of this and numb myself, possibly kill myself, and then it will be fine.

And that was the path I was gleefully headed down tonight.

But I didn’t.

My day started with a bad choice and a spiked drink (or 2). (Or 3.)

But my night didn’t end on the bathroom floor alone with a bottle of alcohol and worse.

He offered me the very simple, yet complicated thing that I always say I need.

Love.

And I took it.

I wish you knew how big of a deal this was for me. Any other night, under similar circumstances, on the best case scenario…I’d have taken a shot (or 3) and then taken his offer. Then accepted his love.

I made a good choice tonight…at least in that moment. It may seem so fucking small and stupid to all of you know have never been in this boat…but it feels big.

He’s asleep now, and I’m writing this. (He probably half thinks I’m in the bathroom trying to kill myself) And I won’t lie….all I want is another drink. I can’t sleep, and another drink would cure that. But I want to wake up at least somewhat “proud” (hah, okay.) of myself.

I have therapy first thing in the morning… and I’m dreading it. I’m a fuck up, and I’ll keep pushing when all I want is the opposite. I want to run. I don’t want to face anything when everything hurts. I don’t know how to say what I need or what I feel, so I shut down and I run and I push.

There is a very broken part of me that needs to feel loved when I know I’m unlovable. I want someone to care when I’m pushing them away. I want them to show up anyway, and make me feel like I’m not just a wasted existence.

I don’t know. I’m just scared.

But at least I’ll show up.

That’s always a good start.

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