My leaving....

When I left my first husband, it was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I remember saying that to myself at the time. We had been married 16 years, we had history, and I knew that it was going to be a hard thing to do. What hurt me the most, though, was that I left my daughter behind, and that was really hard. I had envisioned she and I being together, just the two of us, even if he wasn't going to be in the picture.... I guess that was not fair to her dad. I wanted to be fair, though, so I tried not to force my feelings onto her or him. I can only imagine what this all must have been like for him at the time. He was the one who told me to leave, but he really didn't think there was anything wrong, and he really didn't think I'd do it!!

I know he had a friend to talk to about all of this...and I know he did. His friend was a man he knew from church, and had remained friends with. I didn't particularly care for the friend - I thought his views were sexist, but I know Jack thought a lot of him at the time. I did, and still do, think that everyone needs a friend during times of upheaval and crisis. I met Jack a few times to 'exchange' Chelsea, and we talked briefly at those times. But the main thing I remember thinking was that I didn't want to be around him too long, as I knew he would talk me out of staying gone. And I knew I didn't want that to happen. I was weak enough, and wobbly enough in my convictions, that I knew it wouldn't take much for him to talk me into coming back to live with him. Somehow I knew that wasn't the right thing for me. I still loved him...and would have probably gone back to him, thinking that things would be different. But I was worried about my mental health.

After I stayed with frieds for a few days, I found a little apartment on B Street there in town. It wasn't much, and my heart was hurting. I figured it would be ok for me and for Chelsea. I continued to work at the grocery store where I had a job, and my supervisor there, (the girl I had gone to Wichita with) helped me out by giving me as many hours as she could. I did ok...but not great. Meanwhile, I suppose Jack was getting by out there in the country where we lived, but was making plans to move.

Ok..my heart is hurting right now..writing this..and it's really, really hard to go back over this in my mind. I continue to blame myself for all the heartache and pain that I caused him at the time, that I caused my daughter, and that I went through too. I don't know if it was the right thing to do...I think it was, for me. But it just doesn't seem to make it right, or good, or ok. When I think about the confusion, and the anger, and the hurt....it just is so hard to even think about. I have no idea what he must have been feeling, what he must have gone through...what he must have thought of me... I know, like I said, he talked about it with a friend, but did that help? What happened to him inside? This is making me cry and hurt...and wonder...

I think what happened was that he and his older kids packed everything up out at the house in the country. I let him take care of all that...I was trying to be hands off with all that. Should I have helped? He moved all the stuff to a house in Winfield...10 miles north of the town where I lived. Chelsea decided to stay with him, which was devastating for me, on top of everything else. I wasn't expecting that...but I had to deal with it, and go with it.

What makes it hurt so much now, and made it hurt a lot then, was that we had a good marriage...up until that time, that is. We had a good time together, laughing, playing cards, dancing, holding each other, talking about everything. We had good friends, both old and new. His friends, my friends, and the friends me made together. We made it through the hard times, the times with very little money. We knew we would always have each other. We worked together through the crap that his kids put us through, the car repossessions, the evictions, the job losses,our parents, the moves...all of it. Divorce was never an option for me, as that was the way I was raised. I just figured that we would be together forever. He made me smile and laugh, with his jokes and stories. I guess...after all that, life just caught up with us, got in the way, and I..not him..but I let life and those around me influence my thinking. I let the feelings that I got from others tell me what to do in my marriage. Maybe I was wrong, I don't know. Maybe we grew apart, or I grew away from him. I'm not sure. It hurt like hell, but I knew, or thought I knew, that I didn't want to be with him anymore.

And so...my drinking escalated. Not because of Chelsea being with him, although I'm sure that didn't help. It was everything taken together, I suppose, I continued to have liasons with a few men, continued to drink, and thought I was doing allright. After all, I was on my own, wasn't I? I was away from the man and the situation that had made me crazy, right??

I found out that the brother of the man I was having an affair with was single, and he recommended that I maybe see him, or date him. I said, sure...why not? I really didn't think it would happen, but one night he (the brother, Jeff) ended up on my doorstep. I had my daughter with me at the time. He asked if I had a beer (he had been at the bar) and I said no. I was suspicious. Then he asked if I had a glass of water. What could I say, I thought? So I let him in..and we talked. He told me a bunch of his favorite jokes, and I had a good time talking to him. Of course Chelsea was in the next room, sleeping. I think he probably stayed over that night, which is indicative of the kind of woman I was....no scruples. It wasn't long after that, a few days, I guess, that Chelsea and I had to go out of town for a long weekend, and Jeff asked if he could 'camp out' in my place while I was gone. He was just renting a room in some guy's house, and my place was more suitable for him. I said yea....I figured it would be ok.

Looking back, I know I made him out, and the relationship, to be something he wasn't, and it wasn't. He was looking for a woman to take care of him, cause he was basically lazy and didn't want to exert himself. I know that now...but I didn't know it then. I wish I had....but my rose-colored glasses told me differently.

After a few weeks of seeing him, in which I thought I was having a good time, I let him move in. We talked, laughed, drank, and had good sex together....I thought, what the hell? He's not an asshole, he comes home every night, and he contributes money to the household. I couldn't ask for much more, could I? He got along ok with Chelsea, but then that was the least of my worries. She wasn't there all the time...this had to be hard for her, too.

I got a job at a book publishing company later that year, and I thought I was really doing well. It was in the office, and I did ok for a while. But then they decided they didn't need me there, and, instead of just letting me go, they found a spot for me in the factory part of the company, collating books. It was ok...not what I wanted, but it was a job.

Meanwhile, I kept drinking, and kept seeing the man that I had been having an affair with. I couldn't seem to stop that....we were actually developing a relationship, although I knew he would never leave his wife. I drank beer, malt liquor, wine, and thought I was doing ok. I felt happy in my little apartment, felt like life was good cause I had a good man (?) and I had a good job. What did it hurt if I drank a little now and then. Jeff did too, didn't he?? We had a good time together, and that's all that mattered now. He went to work every day, at a beef slaughtering plant in another town, came home every night, and sometimes we would go out. Or we might stay in and watch tv. He loved it when I cooked, took care of things, and I thought he was the best guy I'd ever had!!

We acquired some fish and some birds, all in that little apartment. It was at this time, looking back, that I realize that I was again letting go of myself and letting myself be molded into what another person wanted me to be. I began to like the things he liked, dislike the things he disliked, doing the things he did, and not doin the things he didn't want to do. I don't know where that comes from...I really don't. I didn't think my parents raised me to be that way, nor did I see my mother do that with my dad. I just did it....not even knowing that I was doing it! But looking back now, I see that that's exactly what happened.

He loved to watch football and gamble on it. He also wanted to raise some fighting chickens and fight them as well. We watched football in my apartment, and he did some gambling there, but that was all. But after about 6 months of being togther, he said he had found a place that we could move into. I know he'd been talking to the guy that he got a ride to work with every day. It was his, Dave's, place...and Jeff thought it would be a good place to raise his fightin cocks. He talked to me about it, and I went over to look at it. It was awful...really it was. But I was so in love with being in love, that I over looked the awfulness of it, and told him I thought I could make it into a home.

It was a raggedy trailer, on the edge of town, that had an old abandoned house next to it. It was the house that had been on that property years ago, and had trash, fallen plaster, old appliances, and holes all over. The trailer was small - 12 by 60, I think - had a sand point for the water, and gas for heat. (A sandpoint. That is long (30 foot) pipe that goes into the ground, with a pointed end on it. The point has holes in it, and thus the water in the sandy ground, on which we lived, could go into the sandpoint, and then be sucked up through the pipe by an electric water pump. That's all we had for water....it was fine when it was working, but anytime the electricity went off, or the pump quit working, we were shit out of luck. And both of those things happened with more frequency than I care to admit. I swore that would never happen to me again.)I guess everything was working at the time, and I didn't even pay attention to what the dangers might be. It also had about 5 acres with it, which was obviously the attraction for Jeff. It had stone steps leading up to the rickety wooden porch. And not NICE stone steps...just big rocks that had been put there to step on. But all this I over looked...what an idiot I was!! I wasn't even thinking about what Chelsea might think.....she was busy living with her father at this point, and I only saw her every other weekend.

I really hate to admit it, but at this point I probably wasn't thinking about my daughter like I should have been. As I said, I was in love with being in love. (I'm shaking my head as I write this...what an idiot I was!) Now I know that she should have been the most important thing in my life at the time....and that carries a lot of guilt with it as well....I let her go, both physically and mentally...and maybe even emotionally.

So, we moved into this trailer....it didn't take long. I think I did most of the moving...as usual, he didn't lift a finger.

My drinking story....

I drank some as I was becoming an adult. I drank in college, off and on. In fact, the night that I lost my virginity, I was probably drunk. I DO remember it, though, so I couldn't have been too drunk. I remember going to the local beer joint and sitting there with friends, poking money into the jukebox, moving to the music, and lamenting about our lives. I met a few 'townies' in there too, and admit to a few one-night stands. It seemed to be the drinking hang out for the college at the time. I also drank in my dorm room. Some of us girls would get together and have a party, and there was almost always alcohol involved. But, again, I didn't really go overboard, or drink in excess.

I guess drinking made me feel grown up in a way. Really, being in college made me feel pretty grown up. I really didn't have an opinion about the drinking one way or the other. I think I did it because other people were doing it. It didn't seem to affect me either way.

After I got married the first time, my husband and I hung around with friends that drank. Not a lot...just on weekends, or during a football game. I drank my share of beer during that time, and liked it. I also remember going to the disco clubs on the weekends, and having some beer there....I probably got drunk a few times, and said some things that I shouldn't have said.
Drinking probably led to some behaviors, at that time, that were not good. For instance, in the process of going to clubs, and hanging out with friends, I got involved with another man...not an affair...just a look across a room, a wink, a promise. Nothing ever came of it, but it nevertheless made my husband feel like crap, and I ended up feeling guilty and responsible. I blame the alcohol for what happened, but I take responsibility for what I did...now. I guess at that time, I liked the way that alcohol made me feel, but I didn't act on it...not then.

It wasn't until later on in our marriage....after I'd had my child, and things started getting difficult with the bills, and the child-rearing, and the stepkids, and the self-esteem. All it took was a few beers, a glass of wine, to make me realize that the effects of the alcohol took me away. It helped me escape, and made me feel so much better.
I was a social drinker, but I quickly turned into a non-social drinker. I drank alone, for the most part. Oh, there were times, later on, when I would go to a bar with my second husband, and sit there and drink a few beers with him. But mostly I drank at home, with a bottle of wine, and tell myself that it was ok.

When I first separated from my first husband, I lived in an apartment, and drank lots of beer. I would go to to the liquor store and buy it, in bottles. Sometimes I would buy malt liquor, or wine. Then, I quit drinking the beer, and went straight to the wine. It seemed quicker, and I liked the taste better.
I would stop at the liquor store once a week and get a bottle of wine. That quickly escalated into several times a week, and then into almost every day. And then, instead of everyday, I bought several bottles when I did go, so I didn't have to go again so soon. This all happened over a time period of several years. I spread my liquor business over several different liquor stores so one of them wouldn't see that I was there all the time...I wasn't fooling anyone, I'm sure.

When my second husband and I moved into our home - a raggedy trailer that I tried to make into a home but ended up hating - I was drinking quite a bit. But I still didn't think it was a problem. He would watch football, gamble, and talk on the phone, and I would sit there and drink. When I cooked I would sip on a glass of wine. When I read, I would sip on a glass of wine. When he would go to the horse racing track and gamble, I would sip on a glass of wine. It was simple - his vice was gambling, mine was drinking. And I had kept up my wandering eye, and my promiscuity.
It wasn't until he and I had had several really loud, physical arguments that I realized that my drinking, and his, at times, was contributing to the problem. But still, I ignored it, and vowed each time that it would be different, that I wouldn't get verbally abusive or loud and argumentative this time.

I tried church. I tried reading self-help books. I tried online help. I tried everything...except admitting that I had a problem. And I still didn't want to do that...cause I didn't have one!!

The thought of an AA meeting - filled with old men in a smoke-filled room - didn't appeal to me at all. I wasn't one of them anyway!! So I continued with my drinking, continued with my loud, yelling fights, continued with my promiscuity, until I hit my bottom. Actually I had several bottoms, but my last one came after I had hit the first few. I had to keep doing research until I was convinced I was an alcoholic.

When I was drinking, I:
- Made an ass of myself by yelling at my husband in front of a whole bar full of people...I even slapped him on the face!!
- Made an ass of myself by talking stupidly in front of my family
- Made an ass of myself by having sex with people I NEVER would have done had I been sober.
- Thought I was being sneaky and innocent by putting my wine in another container and taking it with me
- Made an ass of myself even when I wasn't drinking, simply because of my anger and resentments that had built up in me.
- Got jealous and envious of people when I shouldn't have...
-Probably screwed up a lot of my life, and my daughter's life....
- Blacked out quite a few times. The most embarrassing times were when I knew I had made love to my husband but couldn't remember it.

On August 16, 2001, late at night, after I'd been drinking heavily all evening, I found myself - and I say that because I'd been having blackouts quite frequently up till then - in my car, out in my driveway, and only wearing my underwear, with a glass of wine in one hand, and my cell phone in the other. I have no idea how I got there, or what I was doing, but I was totally ashamed of myself. Nobody around...nobody to see me...but at that point I hated myself for how I got where I was. I haven't had a drink since then.