Drug Tests.

For some reason, I balk at the idea of drug testing my husband. I'd like to know what you guys think about it...other than the obvious, cut and dry answer that it provides, I want to know what you think of all the reasons I don't do it.

1. I feel like it's very parent-child, and we have enough of that going on around here.
   
2. To me, it feels like searching through his things or going through his phone and all that crazy shit that I've learned I'm better off not doing. The problem with doing psycho detective work, for me, is that it never ends. Even if I don't find anything, I don't feel better. I feel like I'm not looking in the right place. Since I've gotten control of my urge (mostly) to go through his stuff and learned to mind my own business, I am in a much healthier place.
   
3. I've seen him pass drug tests before when he knew he'd piss dirty. He's perfectly able to pass one I'd give him.
4. My business, ideally, is not to know whether or not he's using. My business is the kind of partner he's being. If he's meeting my needs, then it doesn't matter what he's doing. I say this, and I mean it...but it's just some silly bitch shit in many ways, as he's not meeting a single fucking need that I have right now, and we're still here, doing this dumb shit. Fuck.
5. I don't want to be "against" him. If he's using, I want him to tell me, out of his face, and not through his secretions. I want to be his partner in recovery, not some kind of cop who's watching what he puts in and out of his body.
6. I'm better off worrying less about whether or not he's on drugs and worrying more about myself. As long as I keep my stuff and my self safe, then I'm always going to be ok.

Do I make sense? Is this a long and winding way of saying, "I KNOW HE'S USING AND I DON'T WANT TO KNOW HE'S USING?"

I am very, very moved by signs of using, those definitive signs like a needle in the bathroom or a burned spoon...those images and objects HURT me like few things. The very scientific nature of asking him to go in the bathroom and piss in a cup and then do a little test feels like needles and spoons and all that shit...I don't like all that shit.

I Think He's Using Redux.

What do I do?

His sister told me some mess, and his mother told me some mess, and he's acting ways...

What do I do?

I'm calling my sponsor when I leave work...but I'd love to know what you guys think.

Too Ugly For N.A.

My husband is a doofus.

I was getting dressed for my meeting yesterday, which (subsequently) I somehow managed to be too late to make. My man was on the couch, and he was so handsome and silly, and I kept sitting down next to him and kissing him, and it made me late...

But all day, I was talking about how we'd go to the meeting together. See, he told me that he wants to start going to meetings, but that he's going to have to say that he's going to go and then not go and make me cry fifty or sixty more times before he actually makes it to one and starts really being ready to go. I decided to make yesterday be #1 in the times when we'd do that little dance of madness.

So I'm getting dressed, and saying, "I'm so glad you're coming with me to the meeting tonight! It's like a dream come true! You're such an angel prince baby husband pie from heaven!" And he would say, "Yes! I am! Let's buy me things! Please make lunch for me!"

We did it all day. It was awesome. You should have been there.

So finally, I'm about to walk out the door with 5 minutes to get to the meeting that is 25 minutes across town (I ended up just going to buy groceries and run some errands instead), and he says that he doesn't want to go because he looks too bad. He said he's too ugly to go to meetings...and he wasn't playing. He meant it that he thinks he's too ugly to go to meetings.

I wanted to cry, or slap him, or shake him. First, he's fucking gorgeous...a gorgeous, gorgeous, beautiful man. And second, last time I checked, you don't have to be in a fantastic place to start going to fucking Narcotics Anonymous. It's not like it's for folks at the top of their game, especially when you're just starting out. He said, "I look so bad, and I don't have a job. I want to start going when I look better and feel better and I'm working so I won't feel like such a fuck-up."

Isn't that the saddest thing?

The End.

Three steps forward...

You know the old song...three steps forward, two steps back.

My husband is batshit insane. Before I left to go to this funeral for my friend, he told me how wonderfully it had worked for him to make a gratitude list, how he knew that he needed to go to meetings, how he felt like a fool for having such a big fit a few nights ago, how he wished that he had a sponsor, how he was going to clean the house while I was gone to the funeral, how he's so grateful that we have each other, how he knows that I have every right in the world to be hurt and angry and how it's unfair for him to blow up at me if I express my feelings...he was sane, rational, sensible...he was sorry for taking my five fucking dollars the night of the wall-punching...

I kissed him, and left for the funeral, feeling satisfied that he was FIXED. Finally, sigh, he was better, he'd gotten good sense, and Heroin Crisis 2007 was done. I could take the blog down, and go on with my fucking life.

But when I got home from the funeral, he was back to feeling sorry for himself, to feeling wronged by me, and to acting like a great big old handsome spoiled child.

I try to remember that every time he talks about going to meetings or getting a sponsor or forgiving himself or understanding me, he's moving closer and closer to being able to do these things, actually, in real life. And I know that I can't expect everything from him. He is doing the best he can, and he's doing as much as he's ready for.

But goddamn it, I get so happy when he makes sense, all of a sudden.