Sunday

Almost itching to go in to work today to get some things done. Spencer is home after a 2-day bender at Kip's [I had asked him to stay over there and it did make it a lot less stressful for me, though I missed him]. I'm glad he's home safely now [always on foot, though that doesn't guarantee safety] but he's still pretty whacked out and we've fussed some. I'm hoping he can sleep it off and we can have a quiet dinner this evening.

It shouldn't after all this time, but it always amazes me how changed he is at this alcohol-saturated state. It's like one personality left the house, and a foamy-pod-grown, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, cranky doppelganger comes back, talking non-stop gibberish. I want to keep living with the first guy, but could do with less exposure to the second. Gee, am I in a poly relationship with the different personalities of my husband?

I'd love for him to be able to have more positivity in his life. Not being able to work [for physical reasons as well as that his alcoholism makes him almost unemployable in itself] hits his self esteem hard, which plays right back in to his drinking. I'd love for him to have someone else besides me love him for the good in him, and boost his self-perception. Coming from me, all the support I give him probably seems like I do it "because I have to -- I'm his wife." He needs an outside source to recognize his special qualities and tell him he's a funny, intelligent, sexy guy. But invariably his alcohol use turns off anyone who can get that close.

This cycle of self-loathing, self-medicating, leading to more self-loathing goes on ad infinitum and appears impossible to break. I'm standing at the side of railroad tracks watching a train wreck in slow motion and can't do a thing about it. Except run. I have the choice to do that, but I'm just not ready to give up.

~Pym