Geographical Cures Part 3 - Wherever You Go, There You Are.

I'm writing this from my new living room, in my new city, while my husband is at his new job.

I'm so so happy to live here.  Each morning the songs of birds I've never heard before wake me, their melodic messages twittering through my window.   It is a city we've visited before and loved, but never would have thought we'd end up.  It's not a tropical island or anything, just a random beautiful place where the grass seems greener, even to me.  When we visited last, I remember looking around and thinking, wow.  I mean, who lives here?  What do they do?  Like, for work?

It doesn't seem possible people get to live here and also have to live normal lives, like waking up and realizing you're out of milk or the cat threw up on the couch, or having to put up with impossibly loud upstairs neighbors who seem to never leave and instead only slam doors, scrape heavy furniture across the room and cackle with laughter.  But nope, it's true - normal lives exist here.  We're out of milk, my cat threw up, and I hope I never have to see my upstairs neighbor face to face because I am convinced in my frustration that she is making noise on purpose.  On the bright side, there are so many Al Anon meetings that I am able to go everyday, even twice a day (and I have - on some days to check out new meetings and on others because I just needed another meeting).

Last fall when I heard my husband had applied to a position in our new town, my first reaction was a drop in my gut and an almost inaudible sigh, complete with a closed eyeroll (passive-aggressive communication could be on my resume under "skills").  There had already been other positions applied to in other towns and other states, moves threatened to be made with or without me.  I got through it by telling myself three things:

1) Apparently, the last several moves have taught me, I can really be happy almost anywhere.  It's comforting to know that somewhere in me, there is resilience.
2) Wherever we end up, it probably won't be for long anyway.
3) I could always decide not to go.

I didn't like #3.  But I had my choices.

Soon the reasons for the job change were collected and announced to me and I waited, we both waited, until companies responded.  It did take a bit longer this time.

Though not a tough competition by any stretch, this location was paradise compared to the other options.  And I was actually mad.  But mad because I couldn't figure out how to be pissed at my husband for moving us, yet again, to a city that absolutely beckoned me.  For weeks I managed to show mostly displeasure at what I felt was another manifestation of his disease; that again he seemed to become irritable, discontent and restless, confident that he would be happier at yet another job, in another city.

Soon I realized how exhausting it was to remain so resentful, and despite my reservations I let it go.  I let it go and decided that what will be, will be.  Maybe I could just enjoy this decision and see what comes of it, making decisions for my own welfare along the way.  Tiring myself out with anger and resentment is a huge part of my disease - I could have voiced my concerns, stated my opinion and then come what may, stuck to my desires.  This is beyond difficult for me, because any rejection or disagreement feels like abandonment, and so I begrudgingly cope with fear and worry instead of facing what could be The Truth.  And The Truth is there amongst the worry, fear, and avoidance of confrontation, whether I make those decisions or not.

Moving day came and went, and my husband was so happy.  He beamed at me, and in his excitement doled out random hugs and kisses.  He sighed contentedly, crossed his arms and seemed to survey what he had put into motion.  "I haven't been this excited about a job in a long time" he said.  It was bittersweet, but I admit I was glad to see him so enthused.

Though our time there was fraught with struggle, I looked around at our empty apartment and felt the familiar pangs of grief over another home left behind.  I said goodbye to many the things I'd miss and to the things I wouldn't miss, of which there were few.

Goodbye, royally-huge bathtub.
Goodbye, double-door fridge.
Goodbye, scenic pool.
Goodbye property manager, who always called me "sweetie."
Goodbye old, always dirty-looking *no matter how many times I cleaned and vacuumed it* carpet.
Goodbye cozy living room, where I served so many meals.
Goodbye...

At each of these farewell scenes the sights, feelings and thoughts upon moving-in come flooding back to shadow against those of our departure, and I grieve for the blank canvas of our space that was once so large with hope.  I turned my key for the last time.

The move was strenuous.  So, so much driving.  Miles that seemed to stretch on for longer than miles, and as I drove I purposely avoided any road markers ticking away our progress.  A little over halfway there, my husband lamented that our new city "didn't feel like home, and probably never will."  I was shocked, but I wasn't - even though I have learned so much about alcoholism, even though I have been to so many Al Anon meetings and grown in the almost two years I've been in recovery, I myself had been fooled into thinking this move would change things, this move would fix it.  He loves it here too, I would tell myself.  Naturally he'll be happier here - how could he not be?  It just "fits" us both so much more.

My friends called it before our last move.  "You know you're not going to stay there long, right?"

"No," I insisted. "We'll live there for a few years, he even said so."  I completely believed this.

Most said the same this time as well.  We haven't been here too long, and after a few short weeks everything was familiar again.  "Wherever you go, there you are."  It is so, so true.  Though I will say not much has changed, there is less good and more not-good.  So I am trying as hard as I can to pull myself out of my own struggle and make the good for myself, wherever I can find it.

And it has been a struggle - I haven't written in so long not only because of my very loud, inner self-critic but because it's been hard, and when times are hard it's hard to find what to say.  I'm fuzzy, foggy, forgetful, fearful.  Lots of F-words.  And that too - sometimes I feel F-d.  But I started this little online project here, and I want to see it through no matter how many bumps and sinkholes in the road.  There is still so much for me to share, and I hope that it will make sense through all of this.

It Has Nothing To Do With You. Really.

I read somewhere recently that "The alcoholic isn't drinking at you."  They're not doing it, in other words, to upset you, to irritate you, to piss you off, to make you depressed and wonder why the hell you married them.  Although you may wonder that.  Alcoholics drink because they're alcoholics.  They may try to blame it on someone or something.  But it isn't personal.

It's a shame that it took two weeks of really phenomenally romantic, sweet and thoughtful behavior on the part of my husband to catalyze the epiphany that you know what?  Wow.  This has nothing to do with me.  I've been the same - doing the same sweet things, talking the same, texting the same, asking the same questions, doing my own thing.  It's him that has come around.

I say it's a shame because for most of us - for me, anyway - the crappier things said to me have always been easier to believe, as if it is the truth being reflected back to me through the behavior of others.  This poor treatment leads to me feeling somehow to blame.  And it starts with the Why's - Why is he doing this?  Why is he suddenly acting this way?  Why is he like this to me?  Why does he treat me and only me like this?  Then there are the How's - How does this happen?  How does he think this is okay?  How can he not see what this is doing to me?  How does this happen?  Inevitably the Why's and the How's lead to the Maybe's.  Maybe if I hadn't said this.  Maybe if I tried doing that.  Maybe if next time I make sure this.  Maybe it's because he needs more sleep.  Maybe he's really truly actually upset about that.  

Then comes the self-blame, the guilt, and down the rabbit hole I go, sucked into the darkness with a pinhole of light above me that I can't see.  I'm hopeless, helpless, out of control and out of my mind with fear, stuck in The Past and scared to death of The Future.  Meanwhile, The Present goes by and if I am not worried, distraught and depressed, I busy myself with distractions - some healthy, some not so healthy.  But mostly I ponder The Dilemma, which is What Am I Going To Do?  And the wind blows, and The Present slips away, and there I am moving along into The Future that I'm so afraid of, looking over my shoulder into The Past.

Today's meeting topic was "letting go and starting over."  Lightbulb.  "I've forgotten that phrase, 'Let go or be dragged' " I shared today, and went on to describe the analogy of my current experience, which is me clinging for life to a rope tied to my husband's truck as he drags me along, "Oh, go ahead and go wherever you want and just drag me along, I'll just be hanging back here for the bumps and twists and turns."  But you can't yank a truck to a stop as you're being pulled by it any more than you can stop the direction an alcoholic is moving toward and pull them back to reality, reign them in.

This is, in my mind, a Step 1 issue.  "Focusing on anyone else but ourselves keeps us in denial" was part of the lead today, and it's so true - the more I focus on his behavior, the more I start to wonder why, and how, and think maybe, and pretty soon I think well, I could fix this somehow.  Which is the illusion of control.  And remember - the Three C's tell us that we didn't Cause it, can't Control it, and can't Cure it.  So thinking that I'm somehow to blame, that maybe if I do x it will fix it, completely goes against this wise acronym.

It is so much easier, I have found, to lovingly detach when things are consistently bad than when there is a dramatic change for the better in our circumstances.  Suddenly I am right there where I used to be, feeling connected with my husband, forgetting that yes, this too shall pass, and when the pendulum swings the other way I find myself just absolutely crushed.  And I must tell you all that I cannot remember a time in the recent past several years in which my husband had been this consistently good to me.  I don't just mean the absence of fits or tantrums or emotional/verbal abuse - I mean proactively kind and thoughtful treatment.  To have him switch back so quickly was a swift kick to the groin of my heart.  So to speak.  I have been devastated and despondent, grieving and angry.

So for now, I am trying to remember that this has nothing to do with me.  I'm a good wife to my husband.  I am far from perfect and I make my mistakes, but throughout I do my conscious best to remain loving and kind.  In no way do I deserve unacceptable behavior, and in no way does his drinking or tantrums have anything to do with me.  My husband has his choices, though he may not see this or understand them, and I have mine.  My choices and my behavior are my property - his are his.  It doesn't matter if he says he's upset for this reason or that.  Even if I have screwed up or said something rude, my husband does not need to react the way he usually does.  He has his choices.

It has nothing to do with me.  Really.