Detach...

With very few exceptions, as parents we want our children to grow into loving, caring, responsible, productive adults. We teach them right from wrong. We encourage education. We convey our spiritual beliefs. We teach them to help those who are less fortunate. We instill a sense of compassion and understanding. And, in my family, we took care of those who were ill and unable to take care of themselves.

Our development is furthered from outside sources – mainly the entertainment industry. We see moral values defeat evil doings. We watch lovers overcome such malady such as cancer or life-altering accidents. Romance is everywhere and implies that it is something that MUST be attained in order to have a full productive life. We’re left with the idea that marriage/partnership is the primary goal. And, once found, that it should last forever and ever until death we do part. Well – that’s the plan anyway.

For the most part, it is possible. But, when one of the partners has an addictive personality, things get complicated. Our first instinctive action comes from all our moral value teachings – we must help the person who is the Ying to our Yang. It’s reasonable. It’s expected. It’s perfectly normal. Sometimes it even helps.

As time goes on, the addiction becomes the third party in the relationship. The alcohol becomes the mistress with a locked-on hold over the couple. The alcoholic begins to change in personality and values. There comes a point in time when the alcoholic is no longer recognizable to the non-alcoholic spouse. Now there are four people in the group – the two spouses, the alcohol mistress, and the alter ego of the alcoholic. That’s too much and no one is having any fun.

You’ve tried everything and don’t know what else to do. There is really only one thing to do. Most people consider that the title alone could be classified as obscene. Detachment. Just the word alone implies that you should stop having any compassion or concern for the alcoholic. Many people think that it means not caring. This is far from the truth.

When you think about detachment, try thinking about the detachment only being for the alcoholic’s alter ego. You still love and care for your spouse. That’s undeniable. But that other person – the insulting one who embarrasses you and complicates your life – that is the person from which you must detach. If you can do that, you will be much more at ease and able to cope with whatever is taking place around you.

If you are at the stage in the alcoholism where the spouse is so consumed in the disease of alcoholism that they become totally unrecognizable – it is time for drastic measures. The spouse you loved, the one you promised your heart to forever and vowed to support until death – is now dead. Even though he/she may be walking around and breathing the air in your space – that person is lost to you forever. It’s time to grieve. Allow yourself this. Go to a grief support group (I wish there were ones specifically for loved ones of alcoholics – but there is not) and tell it like it is. Cry. Get angry. Eat gallons of Ben & Jerry’s. Cry and then cry some more. And then you may find that you can accept the fact that your beloved no longer lives in your house even though the alter ego is still present.

Now what?? You’ve cried, etc., etc. and what’s next? Do everything you would do if there were an actual death. This is the practical stuff – let an attorney advise you as to how to handle the finances, etc. Hire a housekeeper (if you can afford it). Do whatever it is you would do if you suddenly found yourself as a single person. I don’t encourage dating – that just further complicates things because the spouse you love is really still there – but just gone on some sort of mental hiatus. When/if that person returns you want to be emotionally available.

The alcoholic alter-ego is now a roommate and not a spouse. You may not like this roommate, but you provide everything necessary for a safe haven. That’s how you fulfill that idea of taking care of those who are sick or unable to care for themselves. It doesn’t mean you lie to his/her boss – that job is not your business – just as any roommates job would not be your business. It is not your responsibility to see to it that the alcoholic stays sober. It is none of your business if the alcoholic seeks treatment or not. While you can be supportive – let things happen as the play out. Don’t answer questions for the roommate or make commitments – it’s not your place. Put those responsibilities squarely back onto the alcoholic’s plate.

Of course, you must consider children – if there are any in the household. That’s a whole other post. See my page Leave or Stay?

Re-discover your own life. Did you like to play golf before you were afraid to leave the alcoholic at home alone? If so – go play some golf. Develop new friendships -- if they are also spouses of alcoholics, that’s even better. You are in there somewhere – you’ve just gotten lost and now it’s time to be found. Stop spending all your time thinking, hoping, and doing for the alcoholic. Focus on your needs and what you want.

So are you thinking… it’s dangerous to leave the alcoholic home alone… what if something happens while I’m gone? If it makes you feel better, find a cooperative friend that can stay with the alcoholic while you are out. But, don’t let that stop you. If you have no support system, try attending some Al-Anon meetings. You may not like everything they say – but there are people there who understand what you are going through.

You’ve grieved over your loss. You’ve found yourself again. It’s time to find some humor in your situation. Let’s face it – as sad as it is there are aspects of alcoholic actions that are funny. Looking for the milk in the oven – putting a jacket on upside down – illogical conversations – all good for a laugh. When you find yourself getting angry with the alcoholic – stop and ask yourself… if this were on a sitcom… would it be funny? If this were not happening in your house – would you laugh or at least chuckle?

I used to get frustrated at Riley when he would insist that a program from season one of NCIS had never been seen on television before. Especially when I knew he had just watched it a few weeks before. I used to try to tell him it was not new… it was a re-run—again. Now I just smile and say… Oh that’s nice. That smile leads me to thinking how fortunate I am to have that program be his big issue of the day.

Instead of thinking of detachment as distasteful… think of it as a life saver – your lifesaver for your life. Not the alcoholic’s because the alcoholic must find his/her own lifesaver.

I’m not saying this whole thing is easy because it most certainly is NOT. I consider that I’m fairly well detached from Riley – but there are days when I have to just get through each minute. I still get angry. I still yell. But I also laugh and always remember – this Riley is not MY Riley.

By the way… I had a friend who was the spouse of an alcoholic. She gave a specific name to her alcoholic’s alter-ego. It helped her keep her perspective about who was with her at any given time – her husband, Henry or the alter ego, Hank.

99 bottles of beer...

I have noticed that Riley has been having a lot of intestinal issues over the last month. They seem to be increasing in frequency -- daily vomiting and explosive diarrhea. During his last drinking session before detox, he had issues, but they were different. Last time he didn’t start vomiting until the very end – just before Alea and I took him to the hospital when we suspected he had had a stroke. He had bowel issues for many months prior to that but not like what he is experiencing now. His alcohol of choice during that time was vodka.

I don’t consider him to be as close to the end right now as he was just before the last detox.  He still has some reasoning capability and although a lot of the symptoms have reappeared, they don’t seem to be as intense. Except – for this intestinal thing which I felt was out of sync with the rest of his issues. This time he is drinking only beer and I have attributed his slower rate of decline to the fact that it has less alcohol content than vodka.

I was concerned so I did some research and discovered that drinking beer in excess creates a whole new set of complications. Beer has been linked to cancer in the large intestine, rectum, and esophagus while other alcohol doesn’t increase the likelihood of these cancers. This is referring to CANCER rather than the normal errosion of the lining of the intestines. I didn’t know that.

What I do know is that beer (also known as liquid bread due to the high yeast content) is high in calories and will cause weight gain. Since any alcohol prevents the burning of fat, once a “beer belly” settles in the mid section it can be difficult to get rid of. This is especially true since the alcoholic is no longer able to exercise and burn off the extra calories. As a result, that belly can quickly turn into a high risk cardiac situation and even diabetes.

There is an increased opportunity for the beer drinker to experience gall stones or gout. Beer contains chemicals that double the uric acid content in the body and promotes gall stones and gout disease. I had heard this before.

The liver can detoxify about 12 ounces of beer per hour. That’s one can of beer per hour. If Riley drinks 12 cans a day it will take 12 hours for his liver to detoxify the alcohol.

There’s as much alcohol in a can of beer as there is in a shot of hard liquor. Beer is no better for the alcoholic than a shot of whisky or vodka. They can get just as drunk and do just as much damage as with any other type of booze.

Something else I found on the internet was that beer brewing material contains lead – which, of course, can cause lead poisoning. In elderly drinkers this can lead to senile dementia. I don’t know about that one. I found this in only one internet article and could not find anything else that would substantiate this theory. If anyone knows anything about this – please post a comment of send an e-mail. This interests me, but I doubt that it is in fact true.

However, the lead poisoning thing would make yesterday’s conversation with Riley more understandable. It went something like this:

1. Riley doesn’t really like the taste of beer.
2. Riley doesn’t get the desired level of float-y-ness as he does with vodka.
3. Riley knows that drinking a beer has the same alcohol content as drinking a shot of vodka.
4.  My question is – considering all three points – why doesn’t he just drink vodka since it is all going to kill him anyway?
5. His answer – he just wants to drink beer right now even though he doesn’t like it and it doesn’t give him the effect he wants.

OK – it’s his choice – I won’t argue the point with him. Maybe that internet article about lead poisoning and dementia is true after all because this just doesn't make any sense to me. I can find no viable reason why someone would kill themselves by overindulging in something they didn’t like. But, I don't have an addictive personality and maybe I just don't get it.

Anyway, I can guarantee you that if I’m going to kill myself with a substance; it will be one that I like and makes me feel warm all over. I think it is Sara Lee that makes a Chocolate Mouuse Pie – give me about 100 of those babies!!

Imagine the headline – Woman dies from overdose of Chocolate Mouuse Pie while in bubble bath, sipping on Benedictine Brandy and reading the latest Janet Evanovich novel while listening to Nora Jones. She was surrounded by pictures of her children and grandchildren while her cat sat on the edge of the tub. What a way to go!!

I feel good...

The store room is all clean and neatly organized!! YEAH!! Riley was very helpful. He made many walks out to the shed. It got very hot yesterday and I was about to tell him to wait until sundown to finish the storage room stuff, but when I looked it was all done!! I am thankful and grateful (do those words mean the same thing?) that the chore is complete and I can move on to finishing my office / sewing / crafts area. Riley can't help me with that.

I've had several e-mails about how cruel it was for me to put the garbage in my son's bed. I think I better explain before someone calls Child Protective Services. Having a social worker show up to check things out would be interesting since I no longer have children in my household.

I simply put the can on top of Brian’s (my son) bed. I did not dump the garbage out. It was a reminder that made an impression. My son was 16 years old -- old enough to be expected to remember the he had this one thing to do once a week. He had three responsibilities -- school, lawn and garbage. That's not too much for a 16 year old to handle.

Brian was a very good kid. I never had a lot of drama with him. He liked things simple and quiet and tended toward living his life in that manner. Ohhh... there were problems... but they were far and few between compared to his sister, Alea. When Brian had a problem it was a big one -- I remember only three in his entire childhood.

While Brian liked things simple, Alea seemed to complicate the simplest things. She preferred chaos to tranquility. Her problems tended to be little ones that were repeated over and over again. She had difficulty learning from her mistakes.

Two completely opposite personalities… both originated in my womb. Sometimes I was sure the hospital had given me the wrong baby. And I always said that if I had had Alea first, there never would have been a Brian.

But there was a Brian and I loved him very much. He died from alcoholism when he was 41 years old. There is so much controversy over why alcoholics become alcoholics..... is it nature or nurture? I don't know. But one thing I do know... Brian did not become an alcoholic because I was a strong disciplinarian.  Alea had the same type of discipline as Brian and she doesn’t have any desire to drink.

Now that I’ve cleared that up… if you hated my punishment for Brian’s garbage duty forgetfulness, you’ll really be sending me hate mail when I tell you what I did in response to discovering that Alea had been smoking.

Alea was 15 when I discovered she was smoking in her bedroom. I was livid. She grew up in a smoke-free house. I touted the dangers of smoking from the time both of my kids could understand my words. So… I told her that if I caught her smoking in her room again… there would be repercussions. I couldn’t control what she did outside our property, but I damn well would make every attempt to make it difficult for her to continue that disgusting habit.

Of course the inevitable happened. I went into her room to change her sheets and there was an ashtray sitting next to her bed. I went into action. I called a friend who owned a bar and asked him to dump the contents of all the ashtrays into a plastic bag and save them for me. (That was back when you could smoke in places like bars and restaurants).  I went to the hardware store and bought sheets of plastic. Three days later, I picked up the bag of ashtray stuff from my friend. It was a large kitchen size bag filled to the top.

After Alea left for school, I went in and moved her mattress out of her room. (She had a twin bed, so that was easy.) I covered the entire room with the plastic sheeting. Every inch was covered. I closed the central air vents and closed the windows. I dumped the ashtray junk all over her room. It literally covered the floors. Then, just before I knew she would arrive home, I went in and set out a bunch of ashtrays with lit cigarettes. (I was careful that they would not start a fire.) The room became hazy with smoke. I shut the door and waited.

Alea arrived just about 10 minutes after I had lit the cancer sticks. She went straight to her room and the next thing I heard was “Aaahhh!!!! Mom!!!!” After the shock wore off, there was silence. She set about cleaning up the mess and airing out the room. We never spoke about the punishment. There was no need for conversation.

Alea still smokes – much to my dismay – but she has never since smoked in my house or even her own.

I suppose you would say I had an unconventional way of discipline. But, it was my experience that the normal “grounding” and “restricting” never really made much of an impression on my kids. This was before cell phones and computers, so I couldn’t take them away. I always got more compliance when I hit them with an unexpected consequence at an unpredicted time.

As fiercely as I disciplined, I also protected, enjoyed, and loved my two beautiful children. Life couldn’t have been all that bad in our house because my kids’ friends were always there. I loved all of my extra-kids... and I still do. I am still MommaLinda to at least five children who are not blood-related. I am so very blessed to have them.

I count my blessings every time I think of what life could have been like if my alcoholic husband had actually been present more often. Since he was a sailor he was gone 60% of the time and the other 40% was taken up with his mistresses and drinking buddies. Riley was never violent… when he was drunk he was just mentally absent. I am grateful for that.

Looks like I have a lot of gratitude and thankfulness today. Can you see this happy smile? I wish all my readers could feel as good as I do today.

Another word for nap...

SOMNOLENCE – (Noun) Sleepiness; a strong desire for sleep; drowsiness. See the page Alcohol and Biology. This is one of the conditions found when an alcoholic enters into hepatic encephalopathy.

It takes four years for the body to be able to expel all the toxins from the brain and for the brain to resume to a normal level of functionality. If the alcoholic resumes drinking within the four year time frame the new toxins will join with the old toxins and have a little party in the frontal lobe. See my post Sobriety does not mean sanity.

In my case, Riley hasn’t reached the magical four year point in sobriety in 20 years. Each time he starts drinking, it doesn’t take long for him to revert to being the child-like person created by whatever his booze of choice happens to be.

However, Somnolence alone doesn’t necessarily mean hepatic encephalopathy is the culprit. I suppose there are degrees of the condition and maybe that is what I’m dealing with here. But I’ve been through this stage with Riley three times and have never seen it like this before.

Yesterday… I began the task of organizing the store room and unpacking some long overdue boxes. We’ve lived here for six months and I still have packed boxes in both the store room and guest room. I’m fortunate to have a store room at all. We have a laundry room the size of Texas with also contains pantry shelves so I don’t need another pantry. Just inside the back door there is a small room that was once used by the owner as a home office. It’s very small six feet by eight feet but with proper shelving it’s a perfect place for the vacuum cleaner, pet food bins, hammers and tools, canning supplies, etc.

I was having difficulty moving some of the boxes around when it hits me – this is physical labor. There is a man in this house, but he’s too busy napping to help me move these things around. There’s something wrong with this picture.

I know… I know… I know why he is napping… he is in a state of somnolence. Riley takes between four and six naps each day. But, I look at him and think – he’s not that bad yet. I’ve seen him far worse than this. And I start to feel as though I’m being played. That cunning, baffling and powerful alcoholic has conned me into believing that he physically can’t help me – when he’s not that bad yet.

Just to be sure of my suspicions, I watch him. He is able to fix a sandwich and clean up his mess. He takes the trash out. He does a load of his laundry. He naps. So there is still some physical activity that requires brain function. Even if he is at the early stages of hepatic encephalopathy, he is still capable of helping me finish the store room as long as he has supervision and I don’t expect him to do it all alone.

Riley has established a pattern in his life with which he is comfortable. He does only the chores he chooses to do, he eats and sleeps whenever he wants, and doesn’t take responsibility when he screws something up. He imposes himself into my space and no matter how many times I ask for him NOT to do something – he does whatever he wants anyway.

Gosh… wish I could do that. Even without Riley, I would still have to do things I don’t want to do. Like – my real job – I want to retire, but my attorney tells me to wait one more year. I don’t like it – but I’ll do it.

So… I tell it to him straight. We will finish up the store room this morning before I go to church. He will take certain things to the shed and put some things into the trash. We will do it together to be sure that it is done correctly and I’ll help him with the really heavy stuff. When the task is complete… he can nap as long and as many times as he wants.

This man knows me -- he knows how to manipulate me. Sometimes, he has the power to make me doubt what I see or sense. But it only happens when I allow it to happen.

That slip in my consciousness usually happens when I’ve taken on too many tasks and have become overly tired. This week has been filled with stressful situations and I needed to rest. I got a good night sleep and today he will not be able to fool me into believing that he does not understand or is not physically able to do what I ask. I will not treat him so much like an adult – but like a defiant teen.

I’m a firm believer of having the punishment fit the crime – especially for teens. Our son, Brian, was assigned the chore of taking the trash can to the street on garbage day. It’s a simple thing to roll the can out as he was leaving for school. But, he kept forgetting and to keep from becoming an invitation to critters on the days when he had forgotten, I would do it myself. I warned Brian that if he forgot one more time, I would put the trash can in his bed.

The very next trash day, Brian forgot. But I didn’t. Rolling that can around to the front door and up the steps, through the hall and then hoisting it onto his bed was hard work. It would have been easier if I had just taken it to the street myself. But, where was the lesson in that?? He never forgot again.

If Riley does not comply in helping me finish the store room – well – let’s just say I hope he likes napping without a bed.

An organized mind...

Yesterday, Alea had an issue and needed her Mommy. Of course, I accommodated her. We talked on the phone for a couple of hours going over her issues, feelings, and options and then planned a course of action. I don’t care how long I was on the phone, my child needed me and that was the only important thing in my life at that moment.

I had closed my office door thinking it would keep Riley from disturbing our conversation. I thought that he would understand that the closed door meant that whatever was going on was important and needed my undivided attention. Silly me.

In the mornings, Riley and I sit at my desk and he tells me his plan for the day. Yesterday’s plan was to clean out and reorganize the refrigerator. I wanted to move the shelves and make it easier to find things that get pushed to the back. I told him to take everything out, wash the shelves and then I would come in and put it all back.

I didn’t mean I would jump up from my desk the minute he completed his share of the task. I was dismayed when he opened up my office door and informed me that I had to come out right now and finish the refrigerator. I told him I’d be out when I was done. He returned two more times to let me know that the things that needed refrigeration were getting warm. I repeated that I would be out when I was done talking to Alea.

The phone call was over. I went out to the kitchen and saw everything on the counter. Riley was sitting in his chair, but when he saw me he jumped up and said I had been inconsiderate because now he wanted to take a nap but had to stay up to help me. I told him I didn’t need his help yet and to go lie down if that’s what he wanted.

From there he proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t be on the phone for three hours talking to someone – anyone. I also shouldn’t be playing computer solitaire when there is work to be done – especially when I have my real job to do. Then he went off into his usual tirade about living in the real world – his personal fav.

I lost my temper and began yelling back. (Never try to come between MommaLinda and one of her kids.)

Then I abruptly stopped.

I shut up.

I looked at him and told him he should go take a nap.

A sober Riley would not have cared how long I talked to Alea. A sober Riley would have realized there was nothing frozen on the counter and nothing was going to spoil in that time frame. A sober Riley would have been impressed that I could talk on the phone and play computer solitaire at the same time. The person I was angry with was not a sober Riley. I lost my temper and began yelling at – who?? No one. No one that could understand or hear what I was trying to convey.

It’s perfectly normal to lose your temper and defend yourself. But, you can’t defend yourself and be successful at protecting yourself when dealing with an alcoholic. There’s really nothing to defend. The angry, defensive words are lost in the haze. It means nothing. The only thing I gained was a raise in my blood pressure. 

Riley mumbled all the way to his room. And I looked around. OK. I needed to fix this. I got the plastic shoe boxes that I bought just for this task. I sorted out the cheese from the lunch meat and the condiments from the leftovers. I put the cheese into a box, and did the same for the lunch meat and condiments that I use most often. The less used condiments are placed into another box. I threw away the very old leftovers. If I had two of something, I consolidated it into one. And the stuff that only had a small amount in the jar got put into a smaller container.

I put the boxes into the refrig, all lined up nice and neat. Now I can slide the boxes in and out and get to what is in the back of the shelf. Everything looked great. I was so proud of myself.

As I was looking at my handiwork, I thought that at one time this could have represented Riley’s brain. All neat and organized with everything having a purpose and place. It was one of the things I had loved and admired about him. Now his brain couldn’t connect to logic and order. He tries, but just doesn’t get there.

Instead of being defensive, I should have said… “I understand you’re upset.” I must remember that I only hurt myself when I become angry. There is nothing to gain by vehemently expressing my point.  In this house, my point is only important to me.

Good but not great...

My first in a series of presentations was held on Friday evening. The topic was whether or not to “Leave or Stay” with the alcoholic. It was general in nature as to the entire world of alcoholism rather than focusing on just end-stage alcoholism. I think it was too much information – too broad of a subject. I felt I came off as a bit speech-y rather than as a true presentation. I was unsure of what equipment would be available, so I had no slide show or anything fancy. It was just me. And I can get a bit – well – boring.

But, although the attendance was small and one attendee nodded off, I think everyone took something away that they had not heard before. I know everyone related. That was good.

Hey, it was my first attempt at reaching outside my self into the public eye. It was a baby step… next time it will be more of a giant leap. It may not have been a resounding success, but it was a success. I am thankful for that.

I have visions of grandeur for my next presentation which will focus entirely on end-stage. I’m planning a slide show depicting the journey of alcohol as it travels through the body; a tidbit from a doctor (in person or via Skype or pre-recorded --- any volunteers?) about illnesses related to alcoholism; and I’m not sure what else… but it will be spectacular. Did I ever mention that I’m an over-achiever who takes bites larger than a python can swallow?? Oh well, I have to have SOMETHING to reach for that is outside my comfort zone.

The food was wonderful – even if I do say so myself since it was all created by me. I included the recipes in the handout – and the handout was well received. Since cooking is something I do to distract myself from the chaos around me. I thought it would be nice to share some of my creations. All my food is from recipes handed down through my family and friends. I also use recipes I find on cooking shows and on-line, then I revamp and revise them to suit my own tastes. I’m thinking about publishing a cookbook – but that’s a ways in the future. How about a title of “Cooking the Chaos”? Maybe not – send me your suggestions.

I’ve posted the Cliff Notes version of the presentation as a page titled “Leave or Stay”.

Sunday is my usual posting day. But, today I’m just going to leave you with this and the new page. Things are quiet in Riley World today and I’m going to enjoy the peace while it exists.

Have a beautiful day…

My own addiction...

I have an addiction of my own. For an hour of each day, I transport myself to Genoa City and become a part of the world of Young and Restless. I have watched it from the very first episode in the 1970s. With so many soap operas being cancelled – I pray that God will spare me my one addiction and help the powers that be understand that this is an important program.

It’s an hour a day that allows me to be a part of the fictional city. I can be any one of the characters, but I think I relate to Nikki and Phyllis more than any of the others. I see in them traits that resemble my own.

I’m getting off tract – because that’s a whole other post. The point is – it’s only an hour a day and I need that hour so I can just stop and breathe.

Riley interrupted my hour yesterday. He came barreling into my office with that little smile on his face – and – announced that it was storming in California. He sat down directly in front of the TV. When he has done this in the past, I’ve just let it go. But, today – I needed my little brain trip to somewhere else. I asked him if he could wait another 15 minutes to tell me about the weather.

He abruptly stood up and stomped out the door.

The truth is – unless California has had an earthquake and fallen into the Pacific – I don’t really care about the weather in a state where I’m not living. If there is severe flooding in an area of the state where my relatives and friends reside – yes – I want to know. But, will waiting 15 minutes change anything? Is there anything I can do about it? I don’t think so.

Later in the day, I had to go out and run some errands. Before I left I asked Riley if he was sure that he didn’t want to come along. The answer was that he did not want to go.

There was something in his attitude. I knew something was going to happen.

Then – there is was – Riley could not understand why it was more important to watch TV than doing the things I needed to do or talking to him about the what was going on in the real world. Although, he would never admit to it – he was angry that I had asked him to wait.

He proceeded to tell me about how he lives and deals with the real world where things need to be done. He told me he had responsibilities and in his world he didn’t have time to waste on soap operas.

I responded by telling him exactly what I thought – how could he talk to me about living up to my responsibilities when he doesn’t do what he says he’s going to do around the house? It’s hypocritical for him to chastise me for watching TV when that’s ALL he does all day long.

He almost got me. He almost got me to go into a triad of self-righteous indignation. And he almost managed to make me feel guilty about watching Y&R. But – I took a deep breath and then it hit me. Riley 2 was in the building and Riley 1 had disappeared.

A month ago all the things Riley 1 said he was going to do managed to get done. Currently, very little actually takes place. The problem is – I really hadn’t noticed so much until yesterday.  I have been so busy, I didn’t realize that the floors hadn’t been sweep and the furniture was covered in dust. Both chores are his self-assigned duties.

I’ve been spoiled because I’ve enjoyed Riley 1 over the past few months. He is someone I can tolerate and actually talk to. He is someone who helps me by keeping the house tidy and doing other little things that I need.

Riley 2 has a problem with the accumulation of ammonia in his frontal lobe. His reasoning is not always logical. He is angry most of the time. He makes unreasonable demands. He thinks he’s done things he hasn’t and thinks he hasn’t done things that he has. I am all too familiar with Riley 2 because I see him far more often than Riley 1.

Riley 1’s return to drinking – even though it is just beer – has finally caught up with him. Beer is booze. Booze is a toxin that likes to make a home in the frontal lobe. His body is not able to fully metabolize the alcohol and it is taking over his persona.

I have taken things for granted. That was not wise.

My escape to a world where there is continuous serious drama – infidelity, corruption, lies, alcoholism, lost children, questionable sanity – will not change. It will happen for me everyday for as long as the producers produce. My addiction will continue and I will not be seeking out a 12-step program to help me stop.

In Linda and Riley World there is also drama, questionable sanity, lies, and other things that might make a good soap opera. We already have a Young and Restless. How about an Old and Buzzed??

In some people we trust...

All others pay cash…

I trust that the sun will rise each morning. Without fail that sun will edge its way over the paddock and provide a beautiful view for about 20 minutes. It happens everyday. Even when it’s storming outside, I know the sun takes the expected route – over the paddock and on up into the sky even if I don't actually see it.

There are very few things in my life that I trust without contingencies. The sun and moon are only two. I also trust that Jade will chase after any mouse she sees. I trust that my great-grandson will laugh when he sees me. I trust my great-granddaughter to tell me truth no matter what – after all, she’s only four. I trust my bff, Carrot to keep my secrets. I trust my navigational instincts. I trust my soup-making abilities. And, I trust that Riley cannot be trusted.

I have to have a heart catherization to determine the extent of a heart attack I had more than 4 years ago. It was never done when I was told that I had the heart attack. I don’t know why, but never the less, I need to have one know. It’s really just an elimination process because I’ve been having chest pains. If my heart can be ruled out – then the chest pains are most likely caused by living in a stressful environment and being overweight. I’m not a doctor. I’m at their mercy. I’ll do as I am told. I’m not saying I’ll trust them to be right, but if they talk to me in a language that I understand, I’ll totally lean toward their direction.

Actually, having the heart cath is a relatively simple procedure. It’s done on an outpatient basis. I’ll be sedated and won’t remember a thing about the procedure itself. I like that. There are times and things I just don’t need to know and my body’s surgical details are right up there on the top of the list.

Unfortunately that fact that I’ll be sedated brings up another issue. I must coordinate with Alea’s work schedule so she can take me. The hospital is two hours away. She also feels that if she weren’t there and something went wrong, she would never forgive herself for not being there. It’s a closed issue – at least for me and Alea.

Riley says he should be the one to take me. Riley, who has not been totally sober for more than 76 days, wants me to trust that he will be sober on that day. He wants me to trust that he will not forget me at the hospital. He wants me to trust that if I ask him to not drink – that he will not drink. He wants me to trust that the two hour ride will not put my -- or anyone else’s -- life in danger. And – if something goes wrong – he wants me to trust that he will make the right decisions concerning my medical care. He has become so insistent that he yells that I should “trust” him to do as I ask him to.

Alea and I have been over the medical scenario many times since Brian’s death. We know -- without a doubt – what each of us would want if the unthinkable ever becomes reality. I trust Alea to make the right decisions for me. I trust her to not leave the hospital while I’m there. I trust her driving ability. I trust her to be sober for the entire day.

Yesterday my project was to re-do my closet configuration by moving the shelf and hanging bar up to adult height. I don’t know why the master bedroom would have a closet designed for a kid – but there it was. It needed to be fixed so I could finally unpack the rest of my clothes. To accomplish the task, I needed some wood screws that were a shorter length than the ones I had. That meant a trip to the hardware store. I also needed celery for the chicken soup I was making for the presentation I’m giving on Friday. That meant a trip to the grocery store. Both stores are easy to get to and close to each other.

I was so busy with unpacking boxes and assembling bookshelves that I found myself being resentful that I couldn’t send Riley to the store to get the necessary items. He starts drinking at 5 a.m. By the time I realized I needed the items it was almost 9 a.m. There was no way I could let Riley drive to the store. In fact, I couldn’t have sent him even at 5 a.m.

So, here’s this man who says I should trust him with such an important task as taking me to get a heart cath when I can’t trust him to go to the hardware store.

I understand that a part of Riley wants me to treat him as my husband and partner. I also understand that he wants to appear to others that he lives a life that is not alcohol infused. I understand that he wants to be drunk while trying to live a sober life. In my mind, it’s all a part of the alcoholic game of “Let’s see who I can con into believing I’m not really drunk.” It’s the same game he played while being a district representative for AA while he was drinking more than a fifth of vodka every day. I don’t believe he really conned anyone. Those AA people are too smart for that. And I’m too smart for that.

I trust that all his ranting were simply drunken bravado from a man whose hazy brain thinks he is capable of doing anything the same as any sober person.

Living with an alcoholic has not caused me to be incapable of trust. I just reserve it for things that have proven to be trustworthy. In Linda World, using the analogy that “In some people we trust…” Riley would have to pay cash.

Georgia and the Captain...

I have a friend who fell in love with a Captain. I imagined him to be a swashbuckler kinda guy from a romance novel. He was always with my friend accompanying her on shopping trips, wine tours, to the beach, and sometimes he even went with her to work. What a guy!!

When I first met Georgia I was a little intimidated. She’s almost 6 feet tall and when standing next to her, she loomed over my 5 foot frame. She spoke in a quiet voice which meant that I had to listen closely or I wouldn’t understand what she was saying. All of our mutual friends loved her and everyone knew that she loved this guy named Captain Morgan.

As I got to know her, I started to like her. I found her to be funny, considerate and caring. She could not, would not, allow herself to be pushed around and I admired that. She was more loyal than an old dog to its master. She would take your secrets to the grave. I found her to be a safe harbor which, for me, is the cornerstone of a solid friendship. Eventually, she became one of my best friends.

In spite of the friendship, I knew in my heart that Georgia’s relationship with the Captain was unhealthy. He was her favorite person to have over for the evening and he was there nearly every night. Sometimes I could smell remnants of the Captain’s visit as it came from the pores on her skin. I knew there was a problem and I wasn’t secure enough to talk to her about it. This was before I found my anti-alcoholism voice, before Riley came to stay with me, before my son died. I crossed my fingers and tried to mind my own business.

One day, soon after Riley had returned to my home, I was having a particularly bad episode and I was extremely distraught. There was very little privacy in my smallish cottage, so when I was upset I would pace up and down the driveway until I had regained my composure. On this day of pain, I paced and paced and then paced some more. I didn’t seem to be able to get a grasp on my calmness and the tears just did not stop.

Just as I was about to try a longer walk, Georgia called. “Hi Slick!” When I heard her voice I started reiterating Riley’s conversation and all my feeling became the ranting of a lunatic. She listened. She did not interrupt. She just let me go on and on. When I slowed down and she saw a window of opportunity, she simply asked, in that soft, calm voice of hers, “Are you better now? Is there anything I can do?” The minute I heard her say that – I knew I was better. There was nothing more she could do because she’d already done what I needed her to do. I was grateful for her patience and friendship. And now, she was no longer just my friend – she was a sister.

A few months later, Riley and I moved to North Carolina and my relationship with Georgia became one of phone calls and e-mails. I heard from her almost everyday. I could always count on her to send me things that would make me laugh and make me cry. She was a vital part of my daily routine.

I hadn’t heard from her in almost a month. I knew she had been planning a vacation so I wasn’t concerned when two weeks had gone by and I had not heard from her. But as we edged on into the third and forth week – I started to worry. I called a mutual friend and she told me Georgia was having some medical issues. She had no other information.

I called Georgia’s house and her daughter answered the phone. In my mind I was thinking that this must be serious if Georgia wasn’t even at her home – images of her lying in a hospital bed shot through my brain. But what I heard next was actually good news. Georgia had ended her relationship with the Captain and entered rehab. There was an intervention and she agreed to get help.

Just about that time, Georgia came into the house and picked up the phone. I was so very happy to talk to her. I asked how she was doing and told her how proud I was that she had taken this step. She told me she loves the support of AA and had found a “home” with the people in her groups. At this time she was not missing Captain and could now see how unfaithful he was. If she started to miss him, she had her new AA friends to help her keep him at bay.

It was interesting that when I was talking to her, she was not speaking softly. She was talking right out loud and clear. I didn’t have to strain to listen to her. She was still the same confident Georgia, but there was a little more bounce to her voice. I liked that.

My fears of the worst have been set aside. Sometimes living so far away is a disadvantage when you can’t be there for the friends you love. I’m sorry I could not have been there to support her. But she has a wonderful group of people behind her – her son and daughter, uncles and aunts, loyal friends both in and out of AA – and there’s a restraining order out on the Captain. He’s been beat down and I hope he will not show his face ever again. Ding dong the Captain's gone.

Tornado warning...

When the Emergency Broadcast came over the television announcing that we were under a Tornado Warning, I gathered my stuff – blankets, pillows, laptop, water, etc – and put it in a secure place in my bathroom. I was ready.

Riley was in his rocking chair watching his usual NCIS. I told him we needed to get his bathroom ready in case the worst came about. He just said – “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” And being the good little caretaker that I am – I stocked his bathroom. Both the bathrooms are small and there is really only room for one person in each.

As the night wore on, I settled in and listened. Wind, rain, hail, more rain, quiet, wind and more wind – but there was no rumble. I was waiting for the rumble sound of an oncoming train. It never happened – and I was thankful.

As I was waiting, I could feel the house swaying with the wind. We have a brick rancher – solid as possibly could be – but the wind was so strong it was moving the house. I thought of the three little pigs who built their last house of bricks. What a smart thing to do.

In spite of the three little pigs’ wise decision to use brick in the construction – some lyrics kept running through my head -- but they weren’t verses about the pigs’ quest for a secure dwelling. Instead, I was hearing in my head the lyrics to a song from The Wizard of Oz.

The wind began to switch – the house to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch.

Life with an alcoholic is much the same as a house in the middle of a tornado. This first verse could well define what it is like to watch the beginning of an alcoholic downfall. Things are unsettled, the family never feels secure and things start to fall apart.

Just then the Witch  – to satisfy an itch went flying on her broomstick, thumbing for a hitch.

The alcoholic (the Witch) needs to satisfy the craving for alcohol and so he/she seeks it out. Sometimes they ask others to help them obtain the alcohol – as in hitching a ride to the liquor store.

And oh, what happened then was rich.

I think if we substitute the word “sad” for the word “rich,” this would be exactly correct. Because what happens after the alcoholic gets the booze is rich with sadness.

The house began to pitch. The kitchen took a slitch.

Things become increasingly upsetting in the alcoholic household as the drinking continues.

It landed on the Wicked Witch in the middle of a ditch, which was not a healthy situation for the Wicked Witch.

The consequences of the alcoholic’s actions cause him/her to land in unpleasant situations. Eventually the health of the alcoholic deteriorates and puts the alcoholic’s life in danger.

Who began to twitch and was reduced to just a stitch of what was once the Wicked Witch.

The person who was once a vital, productive, happy member of the community is reduced to becoming a mere servant of alcohol. At that point, the entire family is not in Kansas anymore, but rather in some uninhabitable place – like Antarctica. No matter how many times you click your heels, those ruby red slippers are not going to help you now.

I’m told by fellow country dwellers that this is unusual weather for this time of year. Funny, in Linda and Riley World – living in a tornado is a way of life.