I Just Want To Cry (Or Why I Don't Blog Regularly)
- wrenrwaters
- Sep 1, 2020
- 2 min read
Writing a blog doesn't sound hard. In fact, one would not be faulted for thinking, writing is writing - be it a book or a magazine article or a blog post. But it turns out, to the writer's soul anyway, there is something oddly unique about writing blog posts. I should know. I'm a writer who doesn't write them.
I think about posts I should write, could write, need to write all the time. But that's as far as I get most times. And now here I am, 11 o'clock at night and I just want to cry I am so overwhelmed by and with my life. And I think I could write about that but then I think,
"But wait. This blog was going to be about moving beyond the alcoholic marriage. This blog was going to be about living my best life, period. Not my best life with an alcoholic husband. Not my best life despite an alcoholic husband. Not my best life regardless of an alcoholic husband. Just my best life."
Period.
But I fear I am failing. Losing to the beast. It's grip too tight on me. I hear others yelling words of encouragement,
"No! Don't quit! You can defeat it."
But I'm just too tired.
The beast too relentless.
I heard a Navy Seal describing the rigorous training program they go through. He said, to paraphrase,
"The thing is no one element of the training is that hard. But when you put them all together..."
Funny, I understood completely because you could say no one "element" of living with an alcoholic is that hard. Anyone could probably handle one or two of the components on a regular basis even.
But when you put them all together?
Everywhere I look, my life just drains the living fuck out of me. That's really the only way to put it.
Kitchen? Dishes left everywhere. AGAIN.
Family room? Beer cans laying about. AGAIN.
Lawn mower left out, tools left laying around, boxes from Amazon packages just dropped wherever? AGAIN.
Projects half finished, home repairs left undone? AGAIN.
No communication, no connection, no conversation? AGAIN.
My life is sucking the life right out of me.
I have these moments, these days of such strength, such clarity but then...
I guess the beast is just too strong.
Yes, the beast is strong. The beast zaps the strength and life's very breath from us. The partners to the alcoholic know the pain to which you refer. There are better days, and many worse. The folly of Pandora's box subdues our senses. No, it doesn't get better. Of course we (the partners to those we know too well) always hold out hope, prayers and positive thoughts, only to find them dashed on the rocky shore of reality. We find we are in a tiny and seemingly unknown group that survives by the finest thin threads of hope, mostly for some kind of new world without the beast that torments. At least we can reach out to the others that…