Loving an active alcoholic involves, amongst other things, a lot of anxious anticipation.
The apprehension of waiting for the impending unravelling. The fear of the dreaded PHONE CALL – that they’ve been arrested, been killed/injured in a car accident or *deep breath* have killed someone else on the road. The waiting for the inevitable ‘other shoe to drop’. The ever-present foreboding of their unpredictable behaviour and abuse.
The prospect of hope based on their declarations that ‘this time is different’. But having to live in constant caution against hoping too much, because lies and disappointment always overshadow their promises and declarations.
Lover the Loser hated to see or hear me crying. Just as with my Alcoholic Ex. Tears incited anger. I wonder if my tears were a mirror of their failure. If my tears were tangible evidence of the consequences of their behaviour. And I have to wonder if that is why neither one of them has ever tried to contact me after parting ways. I can only assume they are immensely relieved that the mirror has gone. No longer are they faced daily with a reflection of their shame, their guilt, their inability to live an undiluted life.
Perhaps it’s not that I’m unwanted. Perhaps it’s merely a case of not wanting to face themselves each day reflected in the mirror of my tears.