My Reality – Why I Stay

I find myself in a very privileged position when it comes to the question of why I stay. I don’t get asked it very often. My partner and I met through our friendship group and therefore we share friends. Everyone knows him and everyone knows me. There is an underlying understanding of why I stay because they see what I see. They are not outside looking in. 

The first person who asked me was the alcohol counsellor I see from time to time when I need extra support/can afford it. It is a question I had never asked myself or even considered. 

There is a long and a short answer to this question.

The short answer is that I stay because I love him. It is also because he provides me with the love and support I need – which may come across as surprising, but, to date, whenever I have needed him he has been there for me 100%  

The long answer is as follows…

There is no short or simple answer. It’s an incredibly complex situation that I can’t completely explain. I don’t want anyone to thing that I look at this situation through rose tinted glasses. There is one simple fact that has to be laid out from the start: I can not fix him. 

For me this isn’t a project with an idealised plan of events and perfect ending. Our relationship consists of him, me, and a massive demon that sits in the corner all the time. The fight is his, not mine. 

My decision to stay is based on a number of acceptances.  

The first is the above. It’s his fight. I can support him and deal with the fall out, but I can’t fight it. 

The second is that some days I am dealing with a 6’2″ five year-old. Some days shit isn’t going to happen. A drunk stupor on the couch that doesn’t want to move or talk or interact in anyway is going to happen instead. 

The third is that when it’s good you seize it with both hands and hang on to it as long as you can. You appreciate it all. You enjoy all things that attracted you to him in the first place and remember that it is all worthwhile and things are capable of getting better. 

My question to you is this… How different is this to any other relationship? I have friends who go through this exact same thing with partners who barely drink. You can replace the alcoholism with any other emotional or physical challenge we all face in our lives and you get similar outcomes to the above. I for one become a 6’0″ toddler when I am hungry or over tired so I really can’t judge too hard.

It is, however, exhausting and infuriating at times. There are days I don’t want to deal with the shit. I think it’s OK to accept a mixture of days. To know you’ll have good and bad. 

I do have a breaking point though, I don’t know what it is yet but I’ll know when it arrives. For now the good out weighs the bad and that is enough for me. 

Picture source:  http://pin.it/ulU1Hm1

Our Story – Part Three

We have a lot of good times. We go on adventures which I absolutely love. 

Our first adventure was a Friday night where we decided we were going to drive to the coast and watch the sun come up. We even managed to stop off at my best friend’s house on the way down. 

We spent quite a few hours there, it was the first time they met him, my best friend and her husband that is. Everyone got on really well which was lovely for me. I always get nervous introducing someone I like to people who’s opinions mean a lot to me. 

That night was perfect, we drove along the coast for hours trying to find somewhere to stop over night. We found a spot, popped the trunk and sat and watched as dawn started to break, talking a bit but mainly enjoying the quiet and the beauty. 

I had to do all the driving that night, I think he drank almost from the moment we left the house. He may have driven a bit before he started, I don’t recall. I just remember it being a long way and being incredibly tired by the time we got back the next day. 

We watched an amazing lightning storm over the sea that night, punctuated by the beam from a lighthouse, and appropriately accompanied by Run by AWOL Nation on the music shuffle. 

These are the memories I love to build. The escapism. A moment to breathe. Time to just be.  

We never saw the sun come up, we fell asleep on the futon mattress in the back of the car before it did. It didn’t matter though. 

We’ve been several places since, I have a map on my wall I mark with where we’ve been an Polaroids from the trip. 

There is light in this darkness and seizing the moment to enjoy it makes everything worthwhile. Being away for a time goes us a chance to remember why we do this, a quiet enjoyment of each others company, the chance to share experiences. 

Picture source: http://pin.it/sUuRlNX

My Reality – Rum

Rum. Specifically Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum. 

I used to drink it too. Now when I do occasional bar shifts and have to serve it the smell makes me feel sick. 

On beer he’s pretty good. He’s sociable, he’s happy, he reaches a buzz and he’s able to maintain it. 

I mean, it can’t be particularly normal for someone to be able to demolish a 18 pack of Stella competently in one sitting on a regular basis, but it’s preferable to the alternative. 

Rum is the thing I dread because rum leads to “you go to bed, I just need some alone time with some music”.  This means that even with the best will in the world he is not coming to bed that night. It means I wake up to find YouTube still blaring music and him asleep in some comical pose asleep on the couch with all the cushions askew looking incredibly uncomfortable. How the laptop survives I don’t know, that too has been found in some similarly uncomfortable looking positions. 

Rum brings out the depressive, self hating side. The sitting in silence staring in to space which is only broken buy a gulp from the bottle followed by a swig from a can. There is no measure, there is no pouring. It’s just a man with a crate and a bottle. 

Initially he talks more, he talks about what he’d like to do, what he misses, he makes plans, he is generous with compliments and affection. Then he withdraws and by morning all conversation is forgotten. Gone. Like it never happened. There is no recollection of what was said by either party. Any conversation started by me about it is met with a blank look and clear confusion. 

Rum is the thing I hate the most. Rum is the thing I would like to leave. 

Picture source: http://pin.it/lkUJeYf

Our Story – Part Two

In all honesty, when he first told me he was an alcoholic I’m not sure I really believed him. 

The self harm was my number one concern. I was faced with two things I’ve never had to deal with before and the cutting was the one that worried me the most. 

From a selfish point of view, it is not great for your own self confidence to find out that your boyfriend is self harming for the first time in his life two weeks in to a new relationship. I spent too much time worrying that I was a contributing factor to the situation. 

He has a family history of depression, as do I, so we are able to relate on that matter. I think our situation is also testament to how mental illness affects different people in different ways. I am a hide in bed and refuse to talk to anyone or leave the house type of person. I shut down. I sleep. Stuart is from the drink, listen to depressing music and pass out on the couch camp. He’s a very closed off person, he doesn’t communicate about what is bothering him, he tends to talk more once he’s had some drinks. But then you’re never sure if he’s going to remember the conversation. 

All of this is a really sensitive thing to talk about. Generally people don’t talk about it. People seem to prefer to pretend it’s not going on. That it’s best to ignore it. 

We managed to talk about what he had done to himself, about some of the reasons. 

A couple of weeks later it happened again. I got home from work, my best friend and her kids had come to stay. He had been working nights so I went up to wake him and caught a glimpse of his arms as he tried to casually but hurriedly put them behind his head. I’m a very emotional person, it was incredibly hard to hold it together for 18 hours until I could spill my emotions to my friend the next day once we managed to escape children and other halves for a few hours. 

The knife ended up living at my house for some time by a series of odd events orchestrated by him. It stayed for about a month until it returned to his flat. Fortunately that darkness hasn’t been revisited since. Hopefully it will remain that way. 

Picture source: http://pin.it/UkCoR94

My Reality – Falling

​My number one concern is that he is going to accidentally end up killing himself. I don’t worry about the internal damage being caused by the alcohol so much at the moment but I do worry about the disorientation the alcohol causes. 

When he drinks he has a tendency to sleep walk. Both our homes have bedrooms up fairly steep stairs. This worries me. 

This moves up my worry list considerably when the liquor consumption is at its higher levels. His co-ordination becomes very skewed. I’ve watched him stumble around more than I care to acknowledge. 

He is of course “fine”.  He’s “totally got this”.  It’s heart breaking. Sometimes getting him to bed can turn in to quite a spectacle. Sometimes I don’t bother. 

My worst nightmare when he is at his highest alcohol consumption levels is that I will come home to find him at the bottom of the stairs having fallen. This has been exacerbated by the time I came home to find him passed out at the top of the stairs. Feet sticking out over the landing. He’s not a small guy, it would be a heavy fall. 

Then there were the episodes of self harm. Having to sit down with a very close friend who is a similar build to my partner and explain what was going on because I needed the support of someone big enough to move him. It’s tough for everyone involved. It’s tough to have to think like this and make these plans. 

I was relieved when he gave me a key to his flat so I could let myself in. Primarily this was because of the game he plays and not being able to pause it mid raid. But to me it was piece of mind. If communication went down I could get in. 

Fortunately the need has never arisen for the latter, which I am incredibly grateful for. The worry is still there. Sometimes I lay in bed at night listening to his movements downstairs, the weight of the footsteps, the speed of travel. Sometimes he makes it to bed. Sometimes he doesn’t. 

Picture source: http://pin.it/6A6vxmR

Our Story – Part One

This morning as I was getting ready for work I went in to the living room to open the blinds. I noticed something out of place. 

There was a cloth shopping bag on the floor by the couch with a hoodie in it.  Little bit odd. My partner lives with me now so there is no need for bags of clothes… Everything else is scattered around the house. 

Unfortunately, I automatically know what this sort of thing means now. It’s not a surprise anymore. Under the hoodie was an empty 35cl bottle of rum. 

This is small scale liquor consumption compared to what we’re used to. But I’m skipping ahead. Today I’m going to start at the beginning. 

I’ve been dating my partner since April 1 2016, the date pretty much some us up pretty well. The chaotic start to “us”prior to this means that April Fools Day was a perfect beginning.  Our actual story starts a long time before that, back in October 2014 when we first met. 

We’ll call him Stuart. That’s a good place to start. 

I first met Stuart two years ago in a bar. My regular bar where I had previously hung out with my friend John. John had met Stuart and a few others whilst away on a training course. They were all local. It was the start of our group of friends. I was dating a different guy, let’s call him Thomas, at the time. 

As time passed one thing about Stuart became incredibly clear, he was Mr Nice Guy. He would always listen, was the one all the boyfriends sent their needy girlfriends to for attention, and he never missed a party. Genuinely, one of the nicest people I have ever had the privilege to meet. 

This is how everything ticked a long for the next 14 months. As a group we hung out nearly every weekend. There was always something going on and it was always our group of 6-10 that did it. Numbers have increased and decreased over that time as people have come and gone, but a few of the core remain. 

Fast forward those 14 months and Thomas left. It was long over due, the 18 months I spent with him were not happy, but I’d settled. It was vaguely comfortable, it would do. It turns out that Thomas leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me. But that’s a story for another time. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that toxicity yet. 

December 21 2015 is when things with Stuart began. An impromptu Monday night dinner at my house arranged by my friend on my behalf. It was a bit of a shock to come home too. 

We’ve always drunk a lot as a group of friends. It is our main social activity. That night people stayed for a bit and started to drift away, the last people left were Stuart, another of our friends and I. I’m not 100% sure where the idea came from that night, but as we stood by the back door smoking I decided it would be a great idea to kiss Stuart, and much to my surprise he didn’t seem to object. Here began a turbulent 3 months. 

We started hanging out more, a couple of nights during the week and then every weekend. I was going out whenever I could in the hope of spending time with him. Life became an alcohol fuelled mess of Saturday and Sunday hangovers, and going to work after very little sleep and too much alcohol. It was always rum. I could drink rum straight as well as the boys I hung out with. Still I did not see the warning signs.  I had no reason to. What was happening was not unusual as far as I was concerned. I presumed that, like me, it was something he did with company. 

We were 2 weeks in to giving a proper relationship a go when my world cane crashing down. I had cut back on the drinking, I knew it wasn’t sustainable for me. I didn’t really think much about what he was doing regarding it. 

It was a Friday, I’ll never forget it as long as I live. We’d gone to bed. We’d had sex. And then he freaked out. 

Completely freaked out. 

I was half awake, a little tipsy, ready for sleep. He gets up, he’s getting dressed, he needs to go, it’s all a mess. I’m trying to get him to sit down, to calm down, to talk. He just stood there repeating “can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel it?” and grabbing my hand and putting it up his T-shirt sleeve. I’m saying, “what is going on? I can just feel you.”

Then I realise. Then the shirt comes off. Then I see what he is referring too. The tops of his arms are littered with cuts. Deep cuts, scabbed over. “I need to go smoke”, he says and leaves the room. 

I’m reeling, I get dressed and go down stairs. 

I am confronted by a very agitated man, he’s ranting, I need to find someone else, he’s not good enough for me, I deserve better. “I’m a fucking alcoholic.” 

Well, I didn’t really see that coming. I tell him to stop, to breathe. That it’s OK. That it is up to me to decide if he is good enough for me or not. He gets to decide if I am good enough for him. That’s how this works. We breathe. We smoke. We go back to bed. 

Everything has changed. Forever. 

Source of picture: http://pin.it/IZPeXrE