I married my ex husband in June 2010.  By September, he was drinking and drugging (vodka and cocaine) every day, not working, destroying all of our possessions and scaring the poop out of me.  He agreed to go to rehab.  He stayed for 17 days.  He was sober for 57 days.  I felt amazing to have my husband back.  I could hypothesize as to what set him off on his binging.  He relapsed just before Thanksgiving.  I set boundaries, always allowing them to be crossed.  I went to Al Anon meetings religiously - 2 - 3 a week - did all the readings, kept in contact with my meeting groups.  Fast forward to May, 2012 - he'd been to 5 rehabs by then, countless detoxes and overnight hospital stays, several different outpatient programs.  That month my 58 year old Mother died unexpectedly and very rapidly from stage 4 stomach cancer.  None of us was ready for this.  My ex husband disappeared with my father's car for a week, leaving me to mourn alone and explain his absence to the 300+ people who attended my Mom's funeral, which was embarrassing.  I moved in with a very kind friend of mine with a spare bedroom from that time until September when I could find an apartment out of our neighborhood but still affordable and accessible to work.  The deal I made with my ex was that if he could stay sober for 6 months, he could move in with me.  If he was drunk, he was no allowed in.  He was not allowed to spend the night.  In October his father drove him to the apartment one evening with his dog, whom I loved, and then drove away.  I let him in and could tell immediately that he was drunk - his father is in denial and refused to respect the boundaries I tried to put into place. Because he had his dog with him he couldn't take public transportation home and, not having a car or enough money for a cab for him, I had no choice but to let him stay.  He fell out of bed and smashed his head on the night table, slicing open his ear and bleeding all over the rug (admittedly inexpensive IKEA, but still) that I had bought for myself.  I couldn't get him up off the floor (he's a really tall guy) and had to leave him there bleeding on my rug all night.  Next morning, I told him he had to leave immediately, and just pushed him and his dog out the door.  I don't know how he got home - if he called his father or walked or sneaked his dog in the subway or bus or got a taxi that his dad paid for when he got back to his place.  I fortunately had a Bissel spot bot that I had bought ages ago to deal with cat mishaps and was so blessed that the blood all came right out of the carpet using the machine.

That was the last time I saw him.  I spoke with him a few more times, mostly for logistical reasons.  I decided in February, 2013 to divorce him but postponsed filing the papers and hemmed and hawed over it for months.  I finally had him served in September, 2013 and the divorce judgment and order were entered in December 2013.  I felt so incredibly guilty - here was this man I had promised to love, cherish and honor for the rest of our lives, in sickness and health, until death do us part.  I took those vows VERY seriously.  People told me that since he wasn't holding up his promised, I shouldn't be expected to either.  The problem for that, for me, was that my promises and my behaviors are not conditional on those of another.  I hold myself to my own standard.  I consulted the priest who had married us, who is very close with my family, and her comment was the one thing that gave me comfort: the words "until death do us part" doesn't necessarily mean death in the corporeal sense, but can easily apply to the death of the relationship, the death of the marriage.  She kindly reminded me as well that God did NOT put us on Earth to suffer and be miserable.

Since that time, I have spent many days in dark depression, letting friendships and family relationships be put on hold.  I'm very lucky that my support network is there unconditionally - I could withdraw for weeks and when I reached out, they were always there.  I was constantly breaking plans. I saw a psychiatrist but could never adequately describe the anxiety, fear, guilt, shame, embarrassment, inadequacy, rejection and hopelessness I felt.  But somehow I kept on.  I quit my job, thinking I'd found a better one but the new one turned out to be a complete  con.  I lasted there for 4 months and quit in February, 2014.  Not having health insurance, I could no longer see my psychiatrist.  I stopped going to meetings and reaching out to my group members.  I continued journaling and reading the literature.  I sunk into depression but had made plans back in January to spend a week in Vegas in April.  The dismal NY winter last year contributed to my despair - it was so bitter cold that the thought of leaving the apartment for anything was daunting.  

I took the trip to Vegas. By myself for a week, using the timeshare that I was awarded in the divorce.  I did what I want, when I wanted to.  I pretended I was a different person, a successful New York lawyer out to enjoy myself for a week.  While there, I got a call from the placement agent that he had a job he wanted me to interview for.  I came back and did the interview and was hired. The job was in Long Island, 20 miles from my apartment in Brooklyn and not in Manhattan where I'd been running the rat race for 10 years just to get nowhere.  I asked my Dad to lend me a car and away I went to the new job.  I started the first Monday of May.  It was a breath of fresh air.  I won't bore you with the details but suffice to say it was amazing. I felt so incredibly blessed to have this.  I felt that my higher power picked the exactly right time to put this in my path because I may not have been able to appreciate it previously.

Three weeks later, I met the most amazing man.  I still have issues with trust and faith in other people - I remind myself that words are wind and that the only thing you can really rely on is behavior, actions.  This man treated me like no other human being, male or female, ever has.  He lit me up.  He reminded me of parts of myself that I'd buried.  I fell in love with him in 2 weeks.  He moved in in September.  He has his issues - which of us doesn't? - with panic disorder and a congenital back disorder that causes him pain and he is out on disability.  And from that last comment you can imagine where this is going.

He is on several medications.  Some for his panic disorder (Xanax, Wellbutrin), another for some hormone therapy that he injects once a month.  For his back, his doctor (who he ses frequently) proscribes him Oxycodone.  He did tell me about 3 weeks into the relationship that he was on powerful narcotics for his back and that sometimes it left him feeling lousy.  In the past 7 months that we've been together, there have been several occasions, that lasted 1 or 2 days at the most, of him needed to stay in bed and sleep.  Each time, he said it was due to his panic disorder, that he was having panic attacks that made it impossible for him to leave the house.  I believed that.

He asked me to marry him Sunday and I accepted.  I told my friends and family and they were all thrilled.

He'd been in bed since Monday.  I thought it was the panic disorder.  I was journaling to myself to have faith, to trust, to recognize that he is a grown 40 year old man who is fully equipped to care for himself.  That if I was to try to "help," like I am so often inclined to do, I would be controlling, asserting my will, robbing him of his autonomy.

Yesterday morning, his backpack that he keeps his medication in and up high (he has a 6 year old daughter who sometimes comes to stay with us) fell and a belt, spoon, heavy duty lighter and syringes fell out.  His medication bottle also fell out.  Of the 90 pills that he was prescribed 9 days ago, 4 remained.  There were tissues in the garbage with blood on them.  I had noticed marks on his arms before and he explained that they were scarring from the many surgeries he'd had previously.  

I was utterly and completely devastated.  I wanted him out.  I had made it ABUNDANTLY clear that addiction and drug abuse could not ever again be a part of my life, that I'd already gone through it and it nearly destroyed me.  He was high at the time and I knew that I couldn't have a serious, coherent conversation with him.  I went to work, tried to distract myself.  I can't confide in anyone about this for how foolish I feel - how can I have been so blind, so naive, to yet again choose someone with an addiction?  How can I expect my friends and family to once again support me - emotionally and financially - if and when this all implodes?

I was up journaling at 2:30 this morning.  He came out around 3, I could tell he was detoxing.  We talked a little.  I cried a lot.  I told him how betrayed I felt.  He told me he was afraid to tell me because he knew how I felt about it.  I said if that's the case, then why not DO something about it - I was in the dark for 7 months.  At any time during those 7 months he could have, without telling me, talked with his doctor to come up with plan to stop this.  In any event, I head all the same things my ex had told me - almost verbatim.  I can't lose you.  You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.  I'll do anything to fix this.  I just need time.

I'm so torn.  I really have no idea what to do.  We have an appointment with his doctor tomorrow morning at 10 to discuss this.  I made the appointment.  I felt horrible betraying his confidence in calling his doctor.  At first I insisted on being in the appointment with him.  Now I'm not sure I have the right to do that, or that it will be a good thing for us.

He's asking me to trust him and to have faith in him.  I looked up opiate detox and it looks like it takes a long time and it really sucks.  Relapse is almost inevitable.  Add to that the back pain that he suffers and for which this medication was prescribed to him and I can only imagine the discomfort he can expect.  I'm trying to keep my eyes and mind open to signs from the universe as to how to proceed.  I'm trying to be patient, understanding, to detach, to not manipulate the situation, cause him additional guilt.  It's Christmas morning.  I could have spent it with my Dad, my brother and sister in law and their daughter and my sister and brother in law.  Instead I spent the night fretting and crying and feeling anxious and panicked while he slept fitfully, sweating and moaning.  

I'm not asking for advise, necessarily, I just needed and outlet here.  I need to know that there are other people knowing what is going on, because there's no one else I can talk to.  You can rest assured that I'll be finding a meeting to attend Friday.  Probably Saturday and Sunday as well.

Thanks for listening.  Merry Christmas everyone!