Dear someone

We fought this week. It wasn't about anything new or spectacular but I was trying to go work out and realized I couldn't yet again because you were too high when I found a cigarette butt in the middle of our kitchen floor. You brushed me off like it was nothing and I was paranoid but it was directly en route of our crawler and could have (would have) been easily ingested if I hadn't seen it. I said it was time for me to take the kids to my sister's and you said you wouldn't allow it, that you'd call the police and have me arrested of kidnapping.

After all this time I've tried to protect them from this mess of a relationship, I was so angry you threatened me with calling the police. I flashed back to all of the times you were drunk and rowdy and I felt verbally assaulted but still I didn't call. I saw your phone in your hand, said don't bother, and I called them for you.

I just wanted to ask my rights. Am I allowed to leave with them, to take them to a safer place as long as he knows where we're going? You don't have to send anyone, I just need to ask a question. 

But they had to send someone. Two people actually, and a third on the way who they called off as soon as they saw there was no real trouble. No one seemed to care about how frequently he gets high. Said I had to talk to a judge. Said we should cool off and spend the day apart. Said I probably shouldn't go where you couldn't "access" the kids. You spend your life parked on the couch feet away from them and you don't "access" them. Interesting time to start needing access.

I wasn't calling the cops "on you," I was just tired of not hearing back from this stupid small-town lawyer I've been calling. I just want to know my rights.

We have spoken little since. You're angry. Maybe you're entitled to be. I'm embarrassed they came, but maybe I was entitled to call too.

I keep thinking about how things could have been different over the past two weeks. How could I have supported you more? I could have listened better, not given you an ultimatum... but then I come back to the facts: You are smoking pot up to times a day, for an hour or so at a time. This doesn't include your lengthy naps, dead on the couch as our older son flits around you, jumping on you at times in excitement over the latest little adventure he creates. Would listening have prevented this?

I made an appointment for a couples therapist this weekend. I'd been calling for over a week and she finally returned my call a few days after the police incident, our stony silence now second nature. I told you I made it, asked if you'd come and was angry when all you said was "maybe." Totally apathetic.

All this time I've been thinking along the lines of "man he really has a lot of work to do before I can trust him again" etc. But lately it has occurred to me that perhaps you'd quite like if I left for good, left you to your addictions. Although I will never leave the kids with you again, who—despite your seeming ignorance of their need for routine, and stability, and essentials like diapers and food—you do seem to genuinely love. "Maybe."

So I've got 4 days left to stew, to see if perhaps we have anything left to salvage in this relationship.

Dear addict,

You are unemployed and appear to be watching TV but I know you're "lights out." Sigh. But also good riddance. At least you're not drinking... right? Double sigh. 

I'm hustling doing my freelance work and listening to some music which led me down a rabbit hole to this incredible song (I promise... wait it out), then to this gem:

We all got holes to fill
Them holes are all that's real.
Some fall on you like a storm,
Sometimes you dig your own.
The choice is yours to make,
Time is yours to take;
Some sail upon/dive into the sea,
Some toil upon the stone.
To live is to fly
Low and high,
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes;
Shake the dust off of your wings
And the tears out of your eyes.

—Townes Van Zandt

Holy shit, talk about a message meant from above (or outside or whatever... more on this later I presume). Shake the mother fucking dust.

x,
Lex

Dear addict,

You have been home from rehab for 2 weeks tomorrow. I am not supposed to keep track of your recovery but I have an innate tally that has become instinctive over the last 3 years you've been plummeting out of control. You have gone to 2-3 meetings, 1 aftercare meeting, had 0 drinks and smoked weed approximately 29 times, played basketball once (on Mother's day. For 8 hours...), gone fishing once (today, for 10 hours), promised not to miss the kids' bedtime (today, you missed it by an hour)...

Technically that is not true. You were HERE but had other priorities. You came home, snuck in through the garden gate and smoked pot for an hour while I bathed our kids. Helped their fumbling, chubby little fingers brush their teeth and pull on pajamas. While I read them 3 stories more than I promised I would because "will this help? will they remember these moments more than the fighting or the smell or the anger or the hurt?" While I kissed their sweet foreheads for the 100th time today and squeezed them just that one notch too tight that makes them giggle. While I rocked our youngest to sleep, rubbed his back, breathed in his velvetty, dimpled, milky skin. While I silently apologized for bringing them into this situation, and hoped I could be enough to teach them, guide them, love them, respect them, discipline them, support them...

While my heart was breaking again, you were smoking pot in the back yard. I saw the car was home, had been home for a long time and when you walked through the door and brought in a putrid cloud of pot with you my stomach turned and all I felt was rage. Seething rage. I'm not supposed to keep track of your "recovery" and I'm supposed to take care of myself and let you live without judgement. Myself is feeling like throwing in the towel these days...

I called another couples therapist today for a grand total of 5 in the last 2 weeks and have still not heard back from a single one. Small-town living? I miss my big city we moved from to give you "space" and "clarity." Yet another promise unkept. I guess I should add that to my running tally...

I miss writing, and so far, this has helped calm my rage. The beast is quiet for now. Leaving a message for a family attorney helped too.

Final tally: 1 marriage precariously in place.

-Lex