Well, nobody hands you a manual for this kinda thing. One day you think you’re living one life, and the next, you’re smack in the middle of something else entirely. That’s how it felt finding out I was the spouse of an addict. It wasn’t like a sudden movie scene, more like a slow, creeping dread that something was very, very wrong.
The Fog Before the Storm
At first, I just brushed things off. Odd behavior? Oh, they’re just stressed from work. Money a bit tight unexpectedly? Must be bad budgeting on my part. You make excuses, you know? You want to believe everything’s fine. I spent a good while in that fog, bumping into the furniture of our life, wondering why things felt so off-kilter. I’d ask questions, get weird, vague answers. Or sometimes, I’d get anger, like how dare I even ask. That was a big red flag I chose to ignore for too long.
Living in the Daily Tornado
Then it became undeniable. The lies got too big, the evidence too clear. And let me tell you, living with active addiction is like living in a constant, unpredictable tornado. One day, glimpses of the person I knew. The next, a stranger who was all about their next fix, whatever it was. It was exhausting. I tried everything, believe me:
- I pleaded. Begged them to see what they were doing to themselves, to us.
- I got angry. Screamed, cried, threw things. Not my proudest moments.
- I tried to control it. Searched for stashes, managed money, made threats.
- I tried to be the perfect, supportive spouse. Hoping if I was just “good enough,” they’d stop.
None of it worked. It just dragged me down further. I was constantly walking on eggshells. My own health started to tank. Couldn’t sleep, always anxious. My world shrank to just revolving around their addiction. It felt like I was drowning, and they were the anchor.
Trying to Find Solid Ground
The big change came when I finally realized, and I mean really realized, deep in my gut, that I couldn’t fix them. I couldn’t love them sober. I couldn’t control their choices. That was a bitter pill to swallow, let me tell you. It felt like giving up, but it was actually the first step to getting my own life back. I started small. I had to, I was so worn out.
I found a support group for people like me. Just hearing other people tell stories that sounded like mine, man, that was huge. It made me feel less crazy, less alone. I started learning about addiction as a disease, but also about my own role in the whole messed-up dance. Codependency, enabling – words I’d never paid much mind to before suddenly made a whole lot of sense. I started setting boundaries. Hard ones. Like, “I will not give you money if I suspect it’s for this,” or “I will not cover for you anymore.” This was tough. It led to more fights, more drama, but something inside me started to feel a tiny bit stronger.
Where I Am Now, and What Stuck
Look, there’s no neat, tidy ending to these stories most of the time. For me, it meant making some really hard choices about the relationship itself. That’s my story, and everyone’s is different. But what I carried out of that fire was this: you have to save yourself first. You just do. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and mine was bone dry and cracked.
I learned that their addiction isn’t my fault. I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it, and I can’t cure it. All I can control is myself – my reactions, my choices, my own well-being. It’s a daily practice, this focusing on myself, especially when you’ve spent so long focused on someone else’s chaos. It’s not selfish; it’s survival. And slowly, very slowly, I started to rebuild my own life, piece by piece. It’s still a work in progress, always will be, I guess. But at least now, I’m the one holding the tools.
