EPIPHANY: Do I Need My Alcoholic Husband to Stay Sick????

Mr. M and I got in a fight on the way out to the desert (to roast in 117 degree heat - what were we thinking???). I was a crabby bitch (nitpicking, nagging, everything wrong, everyone bugging me, head-achy, grouchy, grrrrr) crabbing at everyone. - Way to start a vacation, right? We stopped by the liquor store for Mr. M to grab some chewing tobacco and the kids to grab some drinks for the road. Mr. M had suggested I think about eating something (he usually suggests this when I am being a crabby bitch and thankfully eating usually helps). I went next door and tried to find something to eat. All they had were donuts. I didn't really want to even eat a donut, but thought EVERYONE might benefit if I did. So I went to order a donut and of course thought that it would not be nice of Mommy to show up in the car munching a maple bar and not bring something for everyone else. So I bought several. I got in the car and Mr. M made a face and got mad. Did I not want to ask for anyone else's opinion before just DECIDING for everyone else that we should have donuts? Do I think he wants to eat a big fat pill? Why didn't I ASK before just buying?

So I felt humiliated and stupid and hurt and embarrassed.

I told him we should stop and BOTH get something to eat. He said NO WAY. This was not his issue... it was MY issue. He would NOT eat something. But I needed to eat something. I told him I would NOT eat anything until he ate something too. He told me he didn't need a mother. He didn't need to be told what to do. He could make decisions for himself. We screamed at each other for a while and then he decided to "make nice" but I wasn't having any of it... I clammed up. Even if it was prideful and stubborn and I starved to death, I would not eat a thing until he did too.

I cried and sniffled and pondered.

He drove.

I was thinking.

I was thinking that maybe I am afraid that if he got sober and strong he might not want me any more.

This thought shocked me.

Am I more comfortable with him being and staying sick?

Do I KEEP him sick so he will need me?

Do I discourage him from getting better because I am afraid that if he got better he would not want me any more?

It was a kind of sad, shocking, scary, humiliating epiphany.

A few miles later he announced that he was hungry and wanted to eat and did I want anything? This is our pattern.

He can't bear to fight. He will give in and swallow his hurt and indignation and pain... and just go get drunk in a few more days/weeks/months/years.

I think I laughed and cried at the same time.

Yes. I would like to eat.

We pulled off at the Golden Arches.

I hugged him and kissed him and appreciated him in a way I haven't for a long time.

As sick and tweaked as he is, I am too.

Water found it's own level with us.

I am grateful for him.