Just like a cancer.

It’s like you have a cancer and I’m the only one that can see the rot.

It’s like all the sudden I can smell the disease coming back and I go into panic mode – I know that your job, as the diseased one, is to hide the tumors, and mine is to find them before they . . . → Read More: Just like a cancer.

Tomorrow will be day one, again.

I was at work today and he called to tell me he was not ‘ok’.

After ‘yes that’s all there was’ and ‘no there is no more anywhere in the house’ there were two more bottles under the bathroom sink. Empty, now, obviously.

I tell him that if I have to be the sane one in this, . . . → Read More: Tomorrow will be day one, again.

My seven years & his three days

It’s been 7 years.

Yesterday I sat in a doctors office listening to him be so honest, so naked and vulnerable and so real. I was so relieved to watch him peel layers away and admit to the doc that he had relapsed and that he needs help. That he knows what he needs to do and how . . . → Read More: My seven years & his three days

Phase two?

Well now I have gotten angry because I got scared. I don’t want to be scared – I want to believe that everything is just fine. I want to look at you and know that you are still my rock and that you always stand tall and strong and that you arent afraid of anything or . . . → Read More: Phase two?

Please know this.

I am not angry.
I am scared. I want you to be ok. I need you to be alright – I need to know that this is not the beginning of you falling – that this is you asking for help. I need to know that you mean it and that you want to not do this . . . → Read More: Please know this.