My head was buried alive in the sand.
Denial, we all deal with denial in some form or another. We are either in denial or dealing with someone that is in denial.
That one little word “denial” can be like a concrete block tied around your ankle, holding you down at the bottom of a lake. Denial can drown, like a slow death, killing slowly, without really being aware that it is happening. Denial will suck the life right out of you.
My third marriage, I dealt with a lot of denial, his denial and my denial. He was in denial that he had a drinking problem and I was in denial that he would wake up and I could help him fix his problem. Boy, was I in denial! Everyone knows that we can’t help someone that is not willing or wanting to accept help. I was fighting a losing battle for both of us.
I can’t tell you how many times he would pass out; I felt like I was living a scene from the movie “Ground Hog Day”. The same thing would happen over and over again and I kept believing time and time again that he would change. I was not living in reality, I was living in denial, holding on so tightly to something that was so unhealthy for me. After many years of counseling, I now understand that this all stems back to my abandonment and rejection issues. He was choosing alcohol over me, his wife. Therefore, I felt I was being rejected once again.
My “Ground Hog Day” always started out the same way, with him passed out to the point I couldn’t wake him. I would find the booze and sit it on the counter for him to find in the morning when he woke up. Besides, you never wake a drunk up to confront them about a drinking problem, because nobody wins that fight. Like I said earlier, you couldn’t wake him out of his drunken slumber.
Most people that have a little too much to drink will feel the affects the next day, that horrible hangover that usually keeps you incapacitated for hours with your head pounding like it is being hit by a sledge hammer. Alcoholics on the other hand, rebound much quicker than the average person because their body has been adjusting to their daily consumption. That is exactly how my ex-husband handled his alcohol. He was a functioning alcoholic, so he would get up and go about his day like the night before never happened.
I always position the booze (aka “evidence”) where he would find it the next morning, right on the counter beside the coffee pot. I would sit in my little chair in the family room drinking my morning coffee, waiting for him to come get his coffee and see the evidence. He would get his coffee and sit down and not say a word…it would infuriate me. There was no way he could have overlooked the evidence but he was acting as if it didn’t exist. Every second he acted like it didn’t exist would just feed my anger into overload, you know that feeling like a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any minute. This scene was just like “Ground Hog Day”, I would live it over and over, just a different day but it would always be the same conversation.
I would try to have a discussion with him, but he would always say that he had his drinking under control. I knew he didn’t have his drinking under control, so what would I do? I would then try to connivence him that he had a problem, by telling him that Vodka wasn’t his drink of choice when we went out, it was straight up whiskey. I would tell him, you know that Vodka is the drink of choice for alcoholics that want to hide it, because you can’t smell it… but he would still deny it. He would always tell me I was “crazy” to the point that I started believing it. He would say his eyes were blood shot from allergies, which he did suffer severely from…it was the perfect excuse. When I would ask him how many beers he had, he would always say two but I would find way more empty cans hidden in the back yard than two.
I lost a lot of respect for my third husband because I never told him he couldn’t drink, nor did I tell him he couldn’t drink in his own home. I didn’t understand why he choose the backyard over his home. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t man enough to drink in his own house if he wanted to. I knew there was a major issue and I knew that if I told him he couldn’t drink, that things would only get worse. The problem was that I was in denial because that is exactly what happened. His drinking got worse and his abusive behavior intensified. He was loosing control of his sanity and started taking it out on me. On the other hand, I was also losing control because I was living the definition of insanity by denial.
My head was buried alive in the sand by drunken denial.
You’re not alone, you are loved,
The Girl that was Abandon