Tag: marriage pain

The Truth Behind the Perfect Pictures of Sobriety

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Family, Sobriety By Matt Salis, MPS 4 Comments

Evergreen Rotting with the Turkey Carcasses and Wadded Up Wrapping Paper

I spent way too much time on social media during the week between the holidays. I usually post about my writing and podcast, then turn it off, so anything more than a few minutes a week makes me feel gross. I probably only scrolled fb and IG for a grand total of an hour, but I still needed to take a hot shower, scrub my eyes with bleach and submerge my phone in Windex.

 

In case I’ve been unclear, I don’t enjoy social media. I think my dislike stems from my borderline-perverted curiosity about your messy, dysfunctional lives. I don’t want to see your family’s strained smiles wearing itchy sweaters in front of a dead evergreen adorned with LEDs and third-grade craft projects. Great – someone held Preston down long enough to comb his hair, and Bill really did a nice job sucking in his gut for the ten seconds until the timer on the phone camera ran down to zero. Precious. Send it to grandma. I want the truth, damn you!

It’s Not Her Fault

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Marriage, Recovery By Matt Salis, MPS 3 Comments

It's Not Her Fault

The most temporarily effective thing my wife and I tried to help us get along during my alcoholism was simple: Be nice. I describe this plan as temporarily effective because while it created moments of peace in our house more successfully than anything else we tried for the ten years of my active addiction, it ultimately didn’t work. So it was the most effective ineffective path we went down to fix our marriage.

 

Here are the details. Before we said anything to each other, we were to run it through this filter: Is it nice? Yep, we banked our marriage on the childhood mantra, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Gifts

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Marriage By Barbara 6 Comments

Gifts

It’s Christmas, and a stranger, not much older than me, comes to the door to ask for help.

 

I’m lucky, and I know it, especially at Christmas. It’s not just the presents, although there are always plenty of those. I live at the local nexus of two big families, and with Christmas comes the convergence. Aunts, uncles, cousins from multiple other towns and states all gather in what I won’t realize are small houses until much later. We’re nestled in, all together. Dad even takes a few hours off from work to be there. 

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Alcohol, Alcohol and Kids, Alcoholism, Parenting By Matt Salis, MPS 4 Comments

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Just because I no longer drink doesn’t mean I am free. This will be my fifth consecutive sober Christmas, and I still wear the chains I forged in my drinking life. They are lighter now. They no longer define me, nor do they prevent me from living the holiday season with a joyful heart. But I can still feel enough weight from the chains that confined me in addiction to serve as a reminder. I am reminded that alcohol is a diabolical poison not meant for human consumption. But I am also reminded of time lost and mistakes made in the indelible ink of holidays spent with a young family. The future is bright, but I’ll never be free of the weight of the mistakes of the past.

 

The ghosts are all around to remind me. The stockings hang from our fireplace as they have since each of our four children was born. Like our kids, they are ready and sparkling and full of promise. And I can’t help but remember the times my selfish drinking left the promises unfulfilled. The lights twinkle and the decorations adorn, and it all reminds me of both festive times and regrettable memories of my disease trumping the potential for peace and love. The chances are all around me this time of year. Chances to make new memories, but also chances to remember the past lest it be repeated.

 

Then there are the pictures.

Thanksgivings

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Marriage, Recovery By Barbara 7 Comments

Thanksgivings

Grief is an amputation, but hope is an incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.

David Mitchell

Slade House

 

Author’s Note: This is the very first piece I wrote for the Echoes of Recovery group, by way of introduction. The prompt was: How are you preparing for Thanksgiving?

 

I’m preparing by remembering.

 

I’m remembering the last hopeful Thanksgiving. 

 

Two years ago, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, my husband and I woke up in separate beds at four in the morning. Time to go. We slipped off our wedding rings. I stacked them on the bathroom counter and took a picture of them in the soft overhead light.

How Would I Know?

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Marriage By Barbara No Comments

How Would I Know?

Tell everybody waiting for Superman

That they should try to hold on the best they can

He hasn’t dropped them, forgot them, or anything 

It’s just too heavy for Superman to lift.

The Flaming Lips, “Waiting for Superman”

 

“Barbara? Barbara…”

 

Someone is saying my name. Or so it seems. It also seems like I’ve been hearing it for a while, fading in from far away. Easy to ignore in the soft, quiet nowhere I am.

 

But I’m starting to remember. I’d just gone to sleep in the OR a minute ago. I know they’re planning to check out my liver with a scope to make sure it’s okay for donation. (The surgeon really didn’t like some of the cysts and small, stiffening spots that showed up on my MRIs. Turns out, you don’t have to be an alcoholic either to abuse alcohol, or to have scars from it.)  

Gather Up the Pieces

Alcoholism, Marriage By Barbara 5 Comments

Gather Up the Pieces

In a place that’s far away from everything and also at the center of the universe, a shaft of light streams through the pines and maples overhead. The maple leaves are finally turning, starting at the tips furthest from the stems, glowing autumn fire bleeding into still summer green. The beam spills through to the forest floor, where a woman stands in the ferns and the moss. She is gazing up, arms outstretched, a silhouette against brindle light and shade, her shadow long in the morning sun, her faithful dog (her other shadow) at her feet.

 

The smile on her face is visible.

 

The woman has been here before, has been in this very spot before, but it’s the first time she’s been whole here.

The Key

Alcohol, Alcoholism, Marriage By Barbara 2 Comments

The Key

At quarter past nine last Saturday night, there was a knock on my front door.

 

There’s a vanishingly short list of people who could call me after 8 p.m. any day of the week and not get my voicemail, whether I’m there or not (I probably am), whether I’m busy or not (I’m probably not). I’m a by-appointment-only sort of introvert.

 

But an unannounced physical being summoning me to my door, in the flesh, with midnight less than three hours away… my God, what fresh hell was this?