Hi,

I'm new here, and I wanted to share my story and get some support.

I was a good kid.  I grew up in a very nice neighborhood, my mom stayed at home with my siblings and I, and my dad was a teacher.  I could find things to complain about, but in the greater scheme that is life, I had a relatively easy childhood.  I graduated high school with honors and went off to a 4 year university.

I got engaged to the first boy I met over there, and ended up quitting college my first year and coming home pregnant.  My baby was born still at 30 weeks.  I was absolutely as broken and devistated as a grieving mother could be.  My fiancé turned 21 and decided going to the bar every night was easier than dealing with me.  He left every night looking for an escape, and came home ANGRY.  I thought it was a faze he was going through because of grief.  I chose to cry, he chose to drink and come home and punch me in the face. Our relationship ended when I walked in on him cheating.

After leaving him, I met my daughter's dad.  I was 20 and absolutely head over heels with him.  He was older, and he had an adult job, and he didn't live with his parents.  I was pregnant within the first 3 months of us dating, and I moved in with him.  After spending so much time at university, and knowing people who binge drank every night, I guess I didn't know what an alcoholic was.  I didn't find his patterns abnormal- but did know that we fought while he drank and he seemed to be less angry and hostile when he didn't drink.  I started dumping his alcohol down the drain.  I started counting how many beers he drank every night.  I talked to him- begged and pleaded with him to stop drinking.  I cried.  I fought, I yelled.  Thinks only got worse- he was always one step ahead of me.  I would dump alcohol- he would find better places to hide it.  I counted beers- he started drinking on his way home from work.  I cried- he yelled.  I yelled- he hit and shoved.  

6 weeks after our little girl was born, I was sleeping on the sofa and woke up to him, in my face, slapping me over and over.  I had enough.  I called the police, and he was arrested that evening.  I went to my very first al-anon meeting that week.  I had never been to an al-anon meeting.  I fully expected to find a room full of people there to give me advice on how to make him stop drinking, how to be there for me and his daughter.  Instead, I was confused to hear people talking about their own recoveries, and their own healing.  "I don't need to recover- he does!  He has a problem, I'm not the one who does," I thought to myself.

I remember going over to my daughter's dad's house so that they could visit (of course I stayed).  He begged me to come back, swore up and down that he was not drinking anymore.  He didn't seem drunk.  I agreed to a trial and moved in with him for a week.  Didn't see him drink once!  I thought he was "cured" and thinks would get better, so I happily moved back in with my daughter's dad and gave him another chance.  And things did get better- and slowly started slipping back.  "I'm just going to have one or two beers tonight, because work today was so stressful," he would say.  How could I argue with that.  But one or two beers turned into three or four, and before I knew it, he was chugging pints and hiding them in the house and drinking an 18 pack of icehouse every evening.  The last straw was one night when he agreed to let me go to a movie with a friend.  I was gone for 2 hours, and returned home to find that he had left.  Our 10 month old daughter was home alone, asleep upstairs in our bed.  He wouldn't answer his cell phone.  He didn't even close the door to our room or put up a baby gate.  I still shudder to think of what could have happened.  15 minutes after I came home, he came rip-roaring in the driveway, got out of the car, peed in a plant in the front yard, and shoved me out of his way so he could play a game on his computer.  I packed up some clothes, scooped up my little girl, and left.

I remember fighting for custody- I still had my name on the lease to our town home, and he swore up and down he wasn't drinking anymore.  I KNEW he was lying.  I remember my ah-ha moment: I was at his house going through his trash can, looking for bottles when I noticed a neighbor looking at me out the window.  It was then and there that I realized I needed help.  He was the alcoholic, yes, but there I was digging through the garbage.  I realized what the people in my al-anon meetings had talked about when they shared stories of personal recovery.  

I married an alcoholic 4 months ago.  I love him dearly- but I try to work on the 12 steps and really focus on myself and my daughter first thing.  For the most part, I have been able to find serenity, and I go to meetings regularly.

Which brings me to why I found my way here tonight (it is 4 am).  My daughter (almost 5 now) woke up sick with the stomach flu and threw up all over herself, her bed, my bathroom, and our new carpet.  I tried to wake up my husband to get some help- we moved a month ago and somehow lost our plunger.  Not to be too graphic- but my daughter has the flu, we had throw up all over the house and TONIGHT, we could really use a plunger.  All I wanted was for someone to watch my child as I cleaned up, ran a load of laundry, and ran out to try and find somewhere open that would have a plunger.  But no, husband was too drunk to wake up easily, and then too inebriated to really be of much help anyhow.  So I did it myself.  I cleaned, I made sure daughter fell back asleep, and ran to Safeway (they don't have plungers...so I am up waiting for a Fred Myers to open at 6).  And in that, I realized how DISAPPOINTED I feel.

I remember being a kid and waking up sick in the middle of the night.  Mom would hold me, make sure I puked in the bucket or the potty, and rub my back.  Dad would get up, clean any mess, and go back to bed.  I'm sure it wasn't fun for them when I was sick, but they were a team.  I grieve for the teammate that I will never have.  I am disappointed- I am basically a single parent, even though I got married to someone new.  Just because he doesn't get violent and hit me doesn't mean he can be there in the ways I want and really need sometimes.  And I am sad.