Things are….not necessarily better. But I’m…managing. ……? (I think?)
My husband is still gone. And likely will be for quite some time.
For reference, he sent me a text this afternoons that said “you’re not the only one wiping butts!”
I responded by sending him a cute picture of our baby, who just so happened to have pooped in the car on the way to big brothers therapy.
This picture, to be exact.
I acknowledged the heaviness in a lighthearted way.
We’re both struggling.
If you’re not aware of the update, my husband has been away for the past little while dealing with his family, and his dads significant health decline.
I’m being supportive.
I’m encouraging him to be where he needs to be.
And I’m holding the fort down here.
But I’m also full of shit. This is SO hard. And I’m fucking struggling.
I miss him.
He won’t be home any time soon.
Things are bad for him.
They’re bad for me.
And we are both just doing our best.
Before all of this, I was able to control my drinking down to 6-8 ounces a day.
Now? I’m easily up to 12 ounces or more. Of 94 proof liquor. So….some strong shit. Most of it coming at night, after everyone is in bed and asleep.
That’s the equivalent of NINE standard drinks. 9. Holy fuck. I’ve never actually done the math until this moment. Well…yeah. Wow. Okay.
I don’t know.
I’m struggling, I miss my husband literally SO fucking much. I just…I miss him. And I want a hug. And I just want him to be okay. This is so fucking hard.
Anyway…I don’t know. It is what it is. I’m trying to stay connected. Stay present and engaged and not just…drink myself into oblivion.
Here’s a video that makes me laugh endlessly, of my adorable 9 month old, who is finally making some more sounds, and then me dropping my phone on his damn self. (My hands have gotten significantly weaker, and this is a constant occurrence. Still, the video makes me laugh. Every single time.)
Things are hard.
And we’re managing.
I’ve isolated myself the past few days. I’ve had an incredible amount to drink the past few days.
This is me, acknowledging that neither of those things are okay.
Quite literally nothing feels good or safe right now.
But I’m surviving the days. I’m showing up.
The nights? Alone, quiet, and abandoned? That’s a wholeeee different beast.
I’m doing by best. I’m keeping it together every single day for my kids.
But at night? It’s a whole different battle.
It feels like torture. I feel so alone, and scared, and abandoned.
And I’m worried it will be like this forever.