Two years old


Today is my anniversary. Exactly two years ago today, I started writing this blog. Back then, I was desperate and in despair. Rosie was a mere 3 3/4 years old. What she knew of her dad was that he had been suffering from an unidentified illness all her life.

“Daddy’s always sleeping.”

“Daddy’s feeling poorly.”

The day I wrote my first post here, Ben was shivering on the sofa, in withdrawal. Rosie and I did our best to carry on as normal, colouring together, doing puzzles, hiding in the bedroom away from his retching and moaning.

We were all poised at that point. On the edge of treatment – detox – and the promise of recovery. That was the first detox. There were more to come, plus two attempts at rehab, before he dug himself out of his rut.

Then, he was never far from relapse. Now he is a little further from it (we don’t kid ourselves, nor do we tempt fate).

Then, we were married. Now we are separated.

Then, he still loved me. Now he is diffident.

Then, he lied. Now he hides the truth.

Then, I was angry. Now I am stoic.

Then, I was lonely. Now I am lonely.

And so we return to that old Proustian maxim. Change. Yes, slowly, while the backdrop remains the same in so many ways. We creep forth at a petty pace. We strut and fret. But this tale of sound and fury, this tale will not be for nothing.

Change. It’s coming.

It’s here.






15 thoughts on “Two years old

  1. Oh, this brings back a wave of memories – your daughter, like mine so many years ago noticing – “Daddy’s always sleeping.” until she expected nothing else. I tried so desperately to orchestrate the trigger that would bring him to his senses – as if that were possible. I had no idea what I was dealing with. How can we? And was so lonely – for so much of my almost 10 year marriage. And now he is gone. After a few years of fury that would allow for nothing else, I have learned to miss him. Even though I’m with a man who I love dearly – I miss that my daughter’s father isn’t around to see who she has become. That he is not here to share some of our extraordinary memories and that unrequited love for her. Even a chance for that part is gone. It’s the part I miss now, so many years later. I don’t miss the days you conjure for me here.
    Hang in there, my cyber friend, and stay true to yourself with your girl. Your tale will never be for nothing and it has so much yet to unfold. You are choosing joy – although it may not come easy – you’ll get there.

    • And you hang in there, too. Thank you for this heartfelt comment – and for sharing your experience. I am sorry your daughter never got to have a real relationship with her dad. What happened to him? When you say, he is gone? If I may ask… ?

      • After struggling with addiction (coke primarily) for 10 years together plus who knows how many before our time together, he killed himself. So I know what it is to live like that. I write about it a bit on my blog. I don’t have to tell you there were some dark days – and along with the shock of his death (and anger because he did it at home and my daughter might have found him) I felt relief. Terrible to say that he did me a favor because I always knew my daughter was safe – and I would not have known that for the time she would have spent with him. So there’s that too. Sad all around though – terrible stuff, addiction.

      • I’m so sorry. So tragic. The fact that he did it at home, with your daughter within reach, shows how far he had fallen, I guess. Addicts don’t care about anyone – not even themselves. Only their addiction. I don’t blame you for feeling as you do – that he did you a favour. At least your daughter is safe now. Thank you for dropping by and sharing your story.

  2. 2 years is a big accomplishment. So many would have given up… on the blog, on life, on all the challenges along the way… I am glad that you are still here sharing your journey with us.

  3. it may be a little late but happy anniversary! im glad u found an outlet and i find that writing is a great self reflection tool. Since reading your blog one lonely,frustrated and deep down in a well of hope crushing heartbreak nite, i want to tell you that it has helped me start to make the life i really want for myself and not just live a life created as a byproduct of someone elses negative reality and im sure many others also who just haven’t left comments.

    • Ah, Darlene – that’s such good news to hear. Go for it, because you deserve to be happy! Love yourself and the rest will follow. I’m touched that you have found some inspiration in some of the words I’ve written here. Take care and thank you again. x

  4. Pingback: Waking up | married to an alcoholic

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