AA says it is a "progressive disease", meaning it is always in progression. It doesn't go back and start at square one, it picks up where it left off.
So Mr. M couldn't hide it and secretly drink for months or years like he used to be able to... he couldn't work and play-act like he used to.
He was "skid row bum" drunk within 24 hours.
He was weeping and telling our kids all his regrets about raising them.
He repeated his stories 5, 6, 7 times each.
He slurred his words.
He reeked.
He got angry, belligerent, and aggressive.
At 3Am, he picked up the coffee table and made as if to throw it at me (after throwing a bag of chips down the hall at me, flinging them all throughout the hall). When Drummer (age 21) came in and tried to intervene (because dad was load and angry and it woke him from a sound sleep), Mr. M turned on him and started kind of lunging at him and threatening him. Drummer left the house and ran down the street. I calmed Mr. M down by reasoning that he should be proud that Drummer was trying to protect me, his mom. Mr. M kind of went for it and calmed down. This was all on night TWO!
He proceeded to stumble down the hall and run into walls, get up and down repeatedly during the night, mumbling, thrashing about, crying, complaining, SCREAMING and groaning with pain in his stomach, eating everything in the fridge and cupboards at all hours. He PEED HIS PANTS on the sofa and Bub (18) saw it and burst into tears.
Mr M went into the backyard to kick off his wet pants then proceeded to walk around naked then entering the kitchen and eating a meal naked. He eventually tried to put on fresh underpants but kept falling over and putting 2 legs in one hole. I eventually offered to help to which he grudgingly responded "Yea, please".
I told him this was not good for the kids and would he please leave and go get a motel room and do his drinking. He told me to F**k myself and that it was HIS house too... he is on the deed... he helps pay for it. He told me to call the "F-ing cops" because what are they going to do;
"Mr M, are you drunk?"
"Yep! And there is not an f-ing thing you can do about it... I am a grown man, drunk in my own house... so f**k off, Pig."
The next morning, when he sobered up a little, before he embarked on the day's drinking, he felt a little bad and said he would leave. I was relieved. I left to therapy thinking we would deal with that when I returned. When I came back, he was three-sheets-to-the-wind (is that saying??? Is it "two sheets"?) and back to telling me I could F**k myself and that it was HIS house too... he is on the deed... he helps pay for it. Call the "F-ing cops" because what are they going to do:
"Mr M, are you drunk?"
"Yep! And there is not an f-ing thing you can do about it... I am a grown man, drunk in my own house... so f**k off, Pig."
And so it goes.
So the NEXT day when he woke up and said he would leave, I had him pack his bags and go right then. He started to walk down the street, but I knew he would just come back later that night and I didn't want that. I had his car keys - confiscated to prevent drunk driving so he would either have to go on foot or I would drive him. I drove him down to a fleabag motel about 20 minutes south. He got out of the car and checked in and I drove away, leaving him to drink.
Possibly to drink himself to death.
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