When I first Learned That I Loved an Alcoholic

It took me a lot of years of unhappiness to realize that someone I loved had a problem with alcohol. In the early years when I was young it never occurred to me that anyone who was close to me could be addicted. Addiction was for sickos and weirdos. It hardly seemed real to me. I had heard of it... vaguely, and then I thought no more of it. In those days I myself did a lot of drinking. I look back now and wonder how I ever escaped becoming an alcoholic. I drank a lot in college and as a young adult. And I liked it. Who wouldn't? In my mind, people who told you not to drink, well, they were mostly adults, old fogies. They wanted to control the young people. They were nuts and crazy to make such a big deal out of it. I mean look what had happened during prohibition. And look at marijuana. They made such a big stink over such a little thing. Why not make it legal and be done with it. These were the thoughts in my head back then

Then one day in my late twenties my fiancée came up to me and told me he thought he had a problem with drinking. I argued with him. "No you don't." I said. After all he was my sun, my moon and my stars. He couldn't have a problem like that. "It's no problem at all." I told him. And I'll prove it to you." Whereupon I sat him down and made my first of many plans to 'handle' his sickness. "I'll take care of it." I said. "I'll buy your beer for you." Even as I said it I was thinking. 'Beer of all things. He can't have a problem with beer. Nobody has a problem with beer. I mean there's winos in the street, and people with flasks of vodka that they carry around. But nobody has a problem with beer.' My mind had a very peculiar habit of dis-remembering the fact that I myself had bought him a lovely little gold flask for a recent birthday...and on day trips he used it.

So I laid out the plan and tied it up in a nice little ribbon for him. I would buy him 1 quart per day. He would never even have to walk in a liquor store. He would not have to face temptation. I would help him moderate. They say ignorance is bliss, but to this day I marvel at this colossal blind-spot. It never occurred to me that he should actually not drink. That was so far out of the realm of possibility as to be unseen and not even pondered. I believe the plan worked for approximately 3 days before he hit the liquor store and I, barraged by accusations that I was not at all helpful, receded into my quiet. Every now and then over the next few years we made feeble attempts at similar plans. They were quickly squelched. This amid a largess of blame for my ineptitude. And one can hardly believe that four or so years later I was literally at the brink of madness over our life together- which had descended into one life-long argument, and blame and scream fest.

At that time, I truly had no idea what the problem was. I was completely in the dark. And I can in fact remember one occasion of circulating the house with a large black garbage bag in hand. I was filling it with beer bottles that I was pulling from every known crevice, nook and cranny. I was the mother with two young babies at the time, overwhelmed and feeling completely alone in the job. The tears were flowing down my face as I filled the bag to near capacity. As I repeated this rote act one thought kept running through my head, repeating itself in an endless brain numbing chant. Over and over again I thought "What is wrong with my life...and what is wrong with me?"

It would take me ten years of growth and healing to fully grasp that every thing I did, every word I said, every thought I had in my head actually typified the term that I will coin as "Second Hand Addiction." I was in fact what the professionals called a Codependent. And not only that, but I was a raving, screaming, textbook example of what it was to be addicted to 'mind altering, mood changing, men" -men who are both easy to love with all your heart one moment, and easy to hate just as fully the next. And of course there are males of my kind who are addicted to the same thing in a female version. And it took me a lot of years to realize that what I loved so desperately was the amazing man that I married. And what I hated was something they called "the addict." And the addict is the addict is the addict, across all language, social, and cultural barriers. Crossing all boundaries of sex, race, color, creed, wealth and poverty. Every addict is the same as every addict. So it's not the person that is so repelling, it's the sickness.

As my blog goes on, I will tell you more of my story, and the stories of many other second hand addicts who have lived with addictions of every sort. I will focus on those who have conquered their unhealthy tendencies and found experience, strength, and hope. Stay tuned, and may this ride bring the same well-being to you. I will henceforth use the term addict for any form of crippling addiction; from alcohol, to drugs, to gambling, to sex, and even to food addiction. Because addiction is addiction, is addiction.