Your heart must have skipped a beat last night when I reached down the back of the sofa cushions. I can only imagine the relief you felt when I pulled out the Xbox controller.  Or maybe you hoped I’d find the bottle. It wasn’t very well hidden it turned out. 

You’ve been home just under 2 weeks now. We’ve just endured 5 and a half months of cross Atlantic separation and so much hard work to reach this stage. To find a way to be together again. 

Up until yesterday you’d managed to stay sober. I’d taken a huge leap of faith and not followed you round like a neurotic mother. I was quite enjoying being your girlfriend having you look after me. Keeping promises. Making an effort.

My world crumbled again last night. I know I didn’t handle it well. I’m not sure there was a “well” way to handle it. You humiliated me. You lied to me. You let me apologize to you for not trusting you when my gut instinct was right. When will you realise I always know. I always know. 

You change, even in the most subtle ways. I know the minute you pick up the bottle. I could tell when you were 6,000 miles away. I can definitely tell now.

I know you don’t believe me when I tell you that I’m not mad about the drinking, I’m only mad about the lying. But it’s true.

Your drinking upsets me. It doesn’t anger me. And it only upsets me because I see how it hurts you. But lying, lying I can not stand. That hurts me more than anything. It chips away at the fragile layer of trust we fight to maintain between us.

Maybe you’ll read this one day and understand. Maybe I’ll never be brave enough to share this with you. But I see how the sober days exceed the drunk days now and I wish I could fight this battle for you. I can see the end of this long dark tunnel and I want to show it to you. Please let me.