The PTSD of Being an Alcoholic’s Ex-Wife
Living with the struggle I have around drinking
I’ve got a problem with drinking, just not in the usual way…
Not drinking is not a problem for me.
And drinking is not a problem for me.
But oddly, watching other people drink is.
Just watching.
What was once a socially acceptable norm to me in my early 20s, before I was married to an alcoholic, was transformed into this dark, ugly thing to be feared by my later 20s as I witnessed the slow journey of my ex-husband to his eventual rock bottom in his early 30s. And now decades later, I still struggle around drinking.
I did my time as the supportive wife of an alcoholic. But I’m still doing time in my head everytime I get around drinking.
My ex didn’t know how to drink just a couple beers.
A couple beers was a one-bite appetizer prior to the rest of the beer-courses.
The casual dinner out with a couple beers is okay when I know there will be no slippery slide into a lengthy evening of drinking.
But parties, bar outings, day drinking and pregaming are the worst for me. They all just mean excess.
Parties equate to an excuse to over imbibe, and bar outings were part of our “dating” routine, while I watched him reach his all too familiar alcohol level of slurred speech, loss of balance, and acquired obnoxiousness.
Day drinking wasn’t some cute song. It was just the day shift at the bar he worked where he could drink and serve, and drink some more, prior to going to our bar outings.
And there wasn’t a cute word like “pregame” for drinking before you go out drinking. How clever of the soon-to-be alcoholics to invent a subcategory of day drinking!
I can be among friends or family and we can all be enjoying a couple drinks, but while they are freely and carelessly having another drink, or a shot, or another shot, and another drink, my mind has halted.
Literally halted. When I’m aware that the social situation has moved from let’s have a casual couple drinks to a numbers game of how many will it take before I sense the shift over to the other side, you’ve lost me.
And it can be a very slight shift for people, but I see it. I know it well. I was married to it.
When the first shot by anyone gets poured, my mental retreat has begun.
I get physically uncomfortable. My emotions change gears abruptly. A subtle undertone of anxiety fills my being.
My mind comes to a hasty standstill where it shifts from awareness of the casual, tolerable drinking to a spidey-sense of the imminent danger ahead. It’s about to get ugly for me. The ugly of watching people get drunk and stupid and turn into people I don’t like so much.
I can see they’re having fun. And most times it’s innocent fun done in the right environment, no harm, no foul. I will laugh with them as I drink with them, and I’m mildly envious of their carefree attitude, but I’m guarded.
My guard is up. It went up at the 3rd margarita. It went up at the 5th beer. it went up at the first shot. Hell, who am I kidding? The guard got all dressed up and showed up even before the first drink was had.
It hurts to watch.
The mental anguish of wondering how my night will go, dependent fully on how others are drinking, weighs heavily on my shoulders.
I feel alone with my feelings.
I watch the stupidity kick in. Or obnoxiousness. The close-talker comes out. The brazen comments, the dumb laughter at dumb things from smart people. The choices that would not have been made if one were sober and thinking straight. The decision-lack-of-decision to have one more, to go ahead and stumble off that cliff into what they think is fun, but will regret the next day. The slight trip over their feet, the slur of their first word. The immaturity. The loudness. Did I say, stupidity?
Then the pointing out begins. The pointing out of guarded me - how I need another drink or how I should do a shot with them or how I should loosen up. Really? Adult peer pressure? That doesn’t help at all.
The irony is I kinda wish I could. But I can’t let myself lose that much control. I know what happens in that place, and it’s not good.
I need someone to tell me why being stupid is fun, and why being hungover is a feeling I want to have. Why is it always the goal of the drunken to get others drunk? Bad choices, stupidity, and next-day misery loves company? I really don’t understand.
It’s not that I think everyone has a drinking problem or is an alcoholic.
But I’ve watched a pro drinker’s 10-year fall to rock bottom that included (among other things) multiple tickets for drinking while driving, a hit and run arrest, and the eventual rock bottom event of a DUI with serious injury staring at a possible 2–3 years behind bars. So I know a thing or two about drinking. I’ve been married to it. I’ve lived it. I’ve watched it.
And actually, I’ve watched it from both sides of the bar. I bartended for years, and sat on barstools even longer. I’ve had barstool sessions longer than you’ve been at work today, just watching.
I’ve seen the nuances. I know what happens when you switch from beer to liquor. I know what happens when you move from the 4th drink onto the 8th. I know what happens when you “do” shots. I’ve watched from the outside looking in. I’ve seen the fights, the break-ups, the casual encounters, the infidelity, the gambling, the drug exchanges, the loneliness, the emptiness, the lost.
I think I have PTSD from being married to an alcoholic.
Somewhere in that life of his, mine, and ours so many years ago, he got sober, and I became the collateral damage. And the funny thing is that I didn’t feel the damage until he left me. I was living alcohol-free when he was sober. When we divorced, and I returned to the drinking world with friends and family, then the pain deep within reared its ugly head. The pain was inflicted decades ago, but I’m clearly still carrying the emotional baggage around.
I’ve got a problem with drinking, just not in the usual way…
Not drinking is not a problem for me.
And drinking is not a problem for me.
But oddly, watching other people drink is.
Just watching.
