Thursday, August 5, 2010

Hole in My Heart the Size of Texas

I don't sleep much anymore, so when Kyd came home at 2 a.m. last week, I was wide awake.  He stood there, inside the door, swaying.   

I don't know how long ago my body became entrained to alcoholism.  I was married to an alcoholic after all, so it's been a long while.  It took my brain about 1.4 seconds to assess that Kyd was plastered and for all systems in my body and mind to "switch over".  Operation lock-down.  

The next two hours were hell.  Kyd is not the kind of addict you see in after-school specials.  He doesn't use or drink on the daily.  He's a binger.  My theory is that it's all part of the greater psyche-cycle he's riding.  He starts getting those anxious thoughts, so he sleeps less.  Less sleep equals more bad feelings, and the best way to remedy that for him is to seek an escape.  

Trouble is, for Kyd, one of those escapes is a red-faced demon with rusty blades for hands.  It's name is "Hard Liquor".  Kyd's brain on hard liquor turns into a pit of snakes and it makes him act crazy.  Not just belligerent.  Not just non-sensical.  Down-right batshit insane.  And despite the alcohol induced stupor, Kyd's mind moves fast when he's drunk.  I am no longer surprised by a crying, laughing, raging episode all within a span of 3 minutes.  Rinse and repeat for hours.  

I won't bother filling in the details.  They are ugly and heartbreaking and frankly I can't bring myself to write them down...anywhere.  It ended with him in an ambulance weeping and hopeless and with what we thought was a badly shattered hand.  

None of that was the really hard part.  The heart-shredding part was sitting him down the next day to remind him that he and I had an agreement.  If he came home like that again he was going to have to move out, immediately.  I did NOT want to do this.  Every motherous cell in my body wanted to forget our agreement.  My somewhat rational recovery mind knew I had better stick to my boundary.  

So it's done.  Kyd is out there, bouncing from couch to couch, looking for a job.  I try talking to him on the phone but his voice is flat and he no longer says, "I love you" back before we hang up.  

"Yup", he says.  And the line is severed.


  1. I have this theory that if I make boundaries and I stick to them, I will eventually feel better.

    I have yet to hang in through the feeling like roadkill to the part where I feel better, and proud of myself, and stronger...but I'm working on it.

    Boundaries are hard for me. Good job on sticking to yours.