Back to Me: Recovery Reflections

No, I didn’t listen to my internal boundary. If you’ve been following along here for a while you know that I wrote last time about wanting to go to a festival instead of a movie, and while this doesn’t seem like a big deal, I’m making it a big deal because I did what I said I wouldn’t do. I went against my own values. I did what he wanted me do instead of holding fast to my boundary and telling him no. No is a complete sentence after all. It’s an easy word to say.

Except it’s not. It’s not an easy thing to say when I know I’ll face the consequences of saying no for weeks afterward. So, I went to the movie and didn’t have a terrible time, but didn’t have a great time either. Even the cat is judging me tonight. Although C was very polite at the event. He thanked me for coming and joining him, he said he had a good time, he seemed so genuinely happy at the movie. It was good to see him in such a good mood, and like the good codependent I am, it was good to feel that I am the one that contributed to that good mood. I hate the word codependent, but that is what it seems like was happening today. I tried to make someone else feel better at my sacrifice. It felt good in the moment, but here I am on a Sunday evening wishing I could have some of my weekend back.

I was polite this afternoon. I made small talk with parents I didn’t want to make small talk with. I helped kids get snacks on my day off. I paid attention to C when he tried to tell me references to the old Mario games in the moive. He was genuintely excited about it like I get excited about Broadway musicals which was endearing to see but I just couldn’t fake enough of my own excitement to care. I pretended to care which is even worse. He doesn’t know there is anything wrong. I was where I was supposed to be. I felt small. I felt invisible. Doing things I don’t like and am not interested in and pretending to like them to make someone else happy. Haven’t I been doing this my entire life? How many friends have I pretended to listen to? Am I just a a horrible person? When will I get back to feeling like the version of myself that I liked? The version of myself that I liked would have gone to Japanese Children’s Day festival today. Except that me would have felt guilty for abandoning C and worried what he would have said when I got back and for the rest of the week.

So the me that is sitting here typing this is the me that knows she won’t have to tiptoe around eggshells tomorrow about a mood he’s in because I abandoned him in his time of need. Do I still feel like he was showing me off to his sister and her partner and their friends, pretending nothing happened with alcoholism and treatment, like everything is OK? I guess a little, there may be a little bit of that going on. I just really think he’s unknowingly a little selfish and genuinely couldn’t see that going to this movie really didn’t make me happy and wanted that for himself today.

But this can’t go on any further. I have to be able to stand up and shout from the rooftops to stop walking all over me. I have to be able to tell him what the true me likes to do and stop making myself small for him or anyone else. I have to know what those things are that I like, and I’m not sure I know that yet. Right now I know that I like making people happy. I like the eggshell walking to cease and I like to be the peacekeeper, and I’ve gotten good at the role. I’ve gotten a little too good at the role. Keeping the peace has made me forget that I don’t like sitting in dark rooms watching and listening to nine year olds scream and run around a theater where they have already seen the movie twice.

I’ve gotten a little too good at telling people that I’m OK. I am not OK. I will not be OK until I can do this.

They say that it takes the addict a good year for brain function to come back online after stopping drinking, and fully start recovery work, and for the partner that process starts much later. I think I’m in my anger era. That tracks. Two or so years and we’ve reached his sobriety, and I’ve reached anger. I’m out of denial. I’m out of bargaining, I’m in rage mode. Except I don’t let the rage out. Emotions buried alive never die. I’m burying my emotions alive. I’m on the antidepressants and I go to therapy, but I’m dying inside. I’m so sick of this me I’ve become, even two years after addiction and into his sobriety. Is this my rock bottom?