My Secret Blog

This is my secret blog.

I have a "real" blog that people can see that has family photos and updates about kids sports and plays and proms and birthdays.

I guess I shouldn't call it my "real" blog, I should call it my public blog.

It IS real... it is all real and good and important stuff... but so is this one.

It is real too.

it is real.

Both are real.

Secret stuff and public stuff are both real.

This one is associated with a secret email address and is anonymous so I have to keep myself signed out all the time and then I get lazy about signing out of my "public" blog and then secretly signing onto this one and then making sure I log out of this one etc.  So sometimes I get lazy about coming here and writing this one.

And maybe I like to forget these things... the alcoholic family things.  

Maybe I kinda like to pretend this is all "in the past" and just linger on the "public" blog stuff (the sports, proms, plays, and parties).

But again, both are real and true.

When I come here, it is like a secret indulgence... a guilty pleasure.

It is my journal online.

But Mr. M or one of my kids isn't going to find it under my mattress one day and say "GASP!!! You felt what?!?!?!?"  It is just me and the page and whoever chooses to join me (hi... thanks for stopping by).

Just because Mr. M is in recovery right now and working a program and using a sponsor and doing his steps and we are in therapy and we are making some progress does not mean we are healed or no longer an alcoholic home.  So this whole journal stays true.

It is still real.

Guilty

I have not been posting for a long time.

I have just started to realize how much this is SOOOOO part of MY sickness as the wife of an alcoholic.

When he is doing bad, I am doing bad.

I start a secret, anonymous blog to pour out my heart and my angst and my fears and my devastation.  It is my journal that my kids can't stumble upon hidden in a drawer or under the bed.  My friends can't find it and gasp at my fantasies or unbalanced thoughts.  My qualifier (Mr. M) can't find it and know how I fantasize about my life without him.  It feels real and true.  I don't have to censor myself because I don't have to have a facade because no one knows who I am.  No persona.  No mask.  Just me.  Feels good.  Feels true.  Feels maybe even a little bit healthy.

Then Mr. M gets sober.

I let him start coming around.  

I hug him.  I let him start hugging me.

I let him have sleepovers.

We go to amusement parks and the beach and even *gasp* vacation.

I start a new family blog with pictures of all the new happiness and beauty we are creating.

I am living in a fantasy land, sucking all this up... lapping it up... rolling around and wrapping myself in it.

I SO want it to be real.

I SO want it to last.

I am SO afraid because I KNOW how temporary it can always be.

I am blessed to be able to give my kids a few more months or years with their Dad and not give up.  They are all blossoming.

But if I let myself THINK about it, I am afraid it is nothing but a house of cards.

My desire to be in denial and just enfold myself in this 10 month period of sobriety - where Mr. M is not perfect, but he is present and available and loving and strong - is all-encompassing.  I think that's why this journal is lying dormant. 

 If I come to it and log in with my secret email address and my secret name & password, then I am remembering and looking at the reality of what my life was (is) just 10 short months ago and I am forced to see how - with the sip of a drink - it would be right back there.

Would I regret this delicious period of denial?  

I can't answer that yet.

And I don't want to go back and read any old posts to see.

I DO know that I am still in therapy and progressing slowly (snail's pace, in my mind), but I DO see and feel changes... but I am not very brave... I am slow and hesitant and scared.  I want to be braver.  I want to trust more and love fully and not live to protect myself from real or imagined pain.

If temporary, my time of bliss is still real.  My kids' happiness is real.  But this... this alcoholic marriage is still real too and I need to not forget it.

Abandonment

I found this on a blog and it resonated with me:

"Ever been rejected? Ever wanted to be chosen ahead of, before, above anyone or anything else?  Me too.
It's what I thought I'd find in love with another person. Didn't happen.
Wasn't cherished or adored or.....chosen most of all.
When you realize there IS a list of priorities in another person's heart and you aren't at the top...it's crushing, sobering. Heart wrenchingly sad.

Abandonment: The feeling of being forsaken and alone.

To believe you are worthy and valuable in God's eyes, is a stretch when human love has been so unsteady, unreliable, uncertain.
To believe God loves you foremost, that you are His crown of all creation, feeeeeels ridiculous. I know. I struggle with it too, sometimes.

When there has been no one on earth to completely love you most of all, makes it nearly impossible to believe there is such love for you in heaven.

Yet, inspite of being "unchosen" thus far on earth, I am banking my life on the belief that God truly truly actually does love me like that. I believe He chose me, chose to give all of His love to me. I believe He aches to be in relationship with me. I believe He pursues me and that He'd rather die than live without me. I believe that.  Tonight I don't feel that, but I believe that."

Being in an alcoholic marriage, married to an alcoholic husband, this is my life story: abandonment.  Knowing that when he is drinking, Mr. M would choose the bottle any second of the day over me.

And I confess, I have believed and hoped and clung and held on and struggled and "obeyed" and 'tried", and encouraged and ______ (fill in the blank) for 20 years.  I am tired.  I think I am hurt and angry and bitter.  I feel dried up and disconnected and done.  I don't want to be mad at God.  I want to be better than that, to have bigger faith than that.  But today, I need to be honest (maybe being honest will get me out of this dry, dry desert): I wonder where god is in this time.

How many times will I hurt and cry and will he leave me there sobbing in a heap on the floor and not protect me, not save me?

It feels like when I was little and I would get hurt and not allow my parents to comfort me... I knew it wasn't what I needed or it was inconsistent, so I pushed them away... and even when I was itty bitty, they let me push them away!!!  They needed to be to grown-ups and push past my protests and hug me and hold me.  When i was an ugly, hateful teen and screamed that i hated them, I needed them to be the adults and KNOW that I was just a little girl, trying too hard to be a grown-up and I need them to push past my vile outside and hug me and let me know they saw and still believed in and loved my insides.

I feel this way about God.

He is GOD.

He should KNOW that I am too tired and worn out and weak and hurt to keep doing this.

And yet He allows it to continue.

He leaves me here on my own, to fend for myself.

I need Him to be in charge and push through and take care of me.