We called 2019, “The Year That Shit Got Real”. That was because when my boyfriend and I met we worked at jobs in a tumultuous company run by a man we suspect was a narcissist and megalomaniac. The guy man never met a conversation he didn’t overtake. There was never a good idea that eventually become his own. And he was constantly threatening to fire someone, and did, fire many people in my nearly four years with the company.
We made it through that experience, dating under the radar (our boss was against us being together) and in secret from our respective children. Both of us wanted to be careful not to introduce our children to a relationship with either of us or the other children, that didn’t work out. So, we were careful. Very careful. We took it slow introducing his son to my two kids and getting all five of us together. Once we finally all got together it clicked and worked much of the time. Our children became more than friends, they became siblings.
We made it through months of this bliss until July 4th. There was a pool party. Then a drive home in separate cars. Then the viewing of fireworks from my backyard. And the sudden and gut wrenching realization that he was drunk.
Between the pool party and getting to my backyard he drank enough to become extremely intoxicated.
Now, one would think when hearing his explanation (after the fireworks were through of course, nothing interrupts my fireworks!) you would think I would have cut it off right there and kicked him out. But being a co-dependent I doubled down on his pronouncement that he was an alcoholic and invited him to live with us. So Al Anon am I, that I was convinced I could “handle” it I could control the situation enough that everything would be alright.
My boyfriend spent most of 2019 in rehab. Two different rehabs. It was tough getting him in and tough being apart all that time. But I managed to keep things as normal as I could for the kids, keep our little blended family together and positive.
At the end of 2019 the rehab was ready to send him home but I was not ready for him to be home. He had come home for a weekend in October and I suspected he had been drinking. But he denied it. By December I knew he was intermittently drinking. Yes, in rehab. We even broke up on the phone for about 10 minutes while he was drunk one night. It was the year that shit got real. But true to my co-dependent self, I begged him not to give up on us and the family that was waiting for him. I should have probably. And after that night, driving home from the FedEx store I missed going to because they closed while I was arguing with him on the phone for two hours, I vowed that if he ever broke up with me again, I’d let him. Maybe shit really did get real for me in 2019.
January 2020 rolls into place and my boyfriend arrives home from rehab. I am at first nervous, but as things go well we quickly fall into a wonderful routine of family, work, games, ping pong in the garage. He relapses once. My son and I go collect him. I put it aside, try not to worry. Work and recreation carry on. He buys a fish tank. His son is with us often. It’s beautiful and I am happy and hopeful. He does well, goes to meetings, even starts eating better. Gets a sponsor.
It’s all gonna be OK.
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