Crazy alcoholic
NOTE: If you think you may be in an abusive relationship, please call this number:
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.
I moved to DC in July 1999 for a research job at [Federal Agency]. When I arrived in DC I was still trying to finish my PhD dissertation in [social science] and I was at the avoid-working-on-it-at-all-costs stage. Unfortunately, work wasn't very busy, so I spent a lot of time on the internet, exchanging emails with friends and reading on-line newspapers. If real work came my way, I was eager for it. I must have spent some time on the dissertation, because during my first year in DC I managed to procure a grant to get the data I needed and get my proposal accepted (finally), as well as doing any work my boss gave me. Still, I felt horribly lazy. I was delighted to have a real job, some money in my pocket and be out from under the peon-student status of grad school. All I needed was a boyfriend. I met him at a party in February 2000.
The party was at a big group house in Mt. Pleasant. The living room was dimly lit and crowded with clumps of beer-drinking people dressed in black and ugly green, some of whom also wore hats and scarves. It was cold outside and there was a little snow on the ground. I got stuck talking to some acquantainences and I had my back against the wall. I wanted to move around, meet some of the cool kids, but one of my group handed me a beer so I didn’t have a good reason to leave. I had a good view of the front door, though, and I kept track of everyone who came in.
I saw one guy in sharp focus and I stopped listening to the conversation. He looked like trouble, gaunt and dissipated in his surplus store Navy coat and his black jeans. He had that bit of a slouch that a lot of tall men have. He walked past me and was gone. I thought, “That one. Why don’t I ever get to talk to that one?” I downed the rest of my beer and asked, “Do you know where they keep the beer?” I walked away before I got an answer.
I thought, 'I'm not looking for that guy. Right. Who, exactly, are you trying to convince? It's not like you really want more beer. Cheap date.' When I got to the back of the house, he wasn't there. There was no beer either. No fridge, in fact. I heard talking in the basement, so I went downstairs. And Trouble was there. He smiled and said, "Are you looking for beer?" 'No,' I thought, 'I'm looking for you.'
I stood on the last step of the staircase and never got any farther. Hemming me in were two fridges and three good-looking guys. Trouble (real name: Matt) found me a beer. He said, "Let's not use our real names." He called me "Julia" (Spanish pronunciation). He kept giving me "the look." Sustained eye contact. I knew what it meant, but I couldn't believe it. This guy? This very cute, dangerous looking guy was giving me the look? Frumpy, plump, hair-in-ugly-pony-tail me--that couldn't be. I hadn't bothered to wear a skirt, do anything with my hair or even put on lipstick (the only kind of make up I ever wear). Yet, I knew that look. And I looked right back.
The other two guys were Dan, a friend of Matt's, and a random guy--whose name also turned out to be Matt. Dan flirted, but not much. There was a flirting tug of war between the two Matts, though. It wasn't that much fun because it was hard to believe that these super cute young(er) guys were fighting over me. That made no sense so I just focused on "my" Matt. After a while he said, "I'm going out for a smoke." I said, "Ok." He said, "Are you coming?" I followed him upstairs and right out of that party.
Dan came outside with two women who I hadn't met yet, Kasha and Magdalena, and the five of us walked a couple of blocks to Dan's place. The boys got stoned but the girls didn't. I was tipsy and I laughed a lot. I explained to Dan that the water filter attached to his sink needed to be changed. Dan wrote down my number and stuck it on his fridge. I asked him why he wanted it and he said we would hang out again. I hung on Matt and he kept his arm on my shoulder for most of the night. Magdalena asked me if Matt was my boyfriend. I said we'd just met. "You just met, tonight? At the party?"
"Yes. Tonight. At the party. Like I just met you."
She asked, "Are you ok? If you want you can come over to my place and sleep on the extra bed."
"I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"Are you sure? The extra bed is really comfy."
I stage-whispered to Matt that she was awfully worried about me, but I knew what I was doing.
It was after 3:00am and the girls left. Dan went upstairs to sleep. Matt took me to a back room that only had a twin bed shoved against the wall. There was a tiny basement window and no lamp. I wasn’t sure how we were going to sleep, but Matt was so skinny that we both fit on the bed almost comfortably. We kissed, but not for long, since the alcohol caught up with us. Dreams about the party and Matt kept waking me. I also promised Matt I would get him up in time for him to go to work at 8:00 am (he was a waiter and was working the Sunday brunch shift), which led to my waking every hour to check my watch. We still overslept. He walked me through the snow to the metro. We barely spoke. I said, “I don’t have your number.” He said, “No. I have yours.”
On Sunday I didn't wait for Matt to call because I was still sure he would. On Monday, I waited all day and started to doubt that I would hear from him. By Tuesday I was sure he wouldn't call. At 10:00 pm I was in bed, reading, cordless phone beside me. It rang. I said, "I wondered if you were going to call."
"Did you want me to call?" Matt asked.
"Of course."
"I wasn't sure if I should call you. I asked all my friends if I should."
"What did they say?" I asked.
"They said, 'If you like her, you should call her.'"
"You should listen to your friends."
Our first date set the pattern for the rest of our relationship. I met him at the top of the escalator at the Columbia Heights metro. He gave me a back-bending hug. We were really happy to see each other--it felt like it had been a long time. We walked to Adams Morgan and ran into the "other" Matt from the party. I didn't recognize him, but my Matt did. They did a little chest puffing thing before the "other" Matt went on his way. "He's not happy. He was pretty surprised to see us together."
"Really, are you sure?"
"Oh yes, he was jealous."
"I didn't even think he liked me."
"We all liked you. Dan liked you too."
"No way. Dan wasn't interested. I don't think I'm his type."
"You are. You're everyone's type." That made me smile.
Over dinner at an unremarkable Indian restaurant, Matt talked a lot. He gestured a lot. We both smiled a lot. After dinner, we went to Tryst and I got hot chocolate. It was a weeknight, so I wasn't inclined to drink. I can't remember if Matt had beer at the restaurant, but he must have had something. I don't remember what he had at Tryst. I remember that I didn't want the evening to end. It didn't end until the next morning.
After that first date, I thought of Matt as my boyfriend. We couldn't stop touching each other. It was intoxicating.
Matt was certain that we were meant to be together. He would tell me how wonderful I was; how perfect my body was. How guys who liked skinny girls were crazy. "Most men want women who look like women--but they can't always admit it. I used to be like that." I would smile and nod. He was crazily, constantly affectionate. He called me several times a day. He left rambling, affectionate (drunken?) messages on my answering machine telling me I was beautiful. I guess it's impossible to underestimate the power of affectionate actions and flattering words.
Being with Matt left me in an almost constant state of sleep deprivation due to his late night and irregular work schedule. That's life as a waiter. We wasted nights and afternoons in bars and never actually went to the movies. I believed him when he said that we would last. He was younger than me by six years, but had had a couple of year plus relationships. I took this as a sign that he was capable of having a long term relationship and that we were beginning one. Eating breakfast in the Engels Diner in Mt. Pleasant, a few blocks from his rented room in Columbia Heights, he told me about his downward mobility.
I said, "People think we shouldn't be together. They don't understand. They think you're bad for me, but I think you're good for me." He said, "Would you date me if I still owned a car? I had to get rid of it because it was too expensive but it has saved me from drinking and driving." I impressed him with my excess of education, but he never asked me about my dissertation. I floated along on his enthusiasm for us and his displays of affection.
I remember watching him pace around my apartment, telling me that he didn't have a problem. "I just like to drink, that's not a problem. I don't know why they think I'm an alcoholic. People don't drink like they used to. I don't have a problem." I would sit there, watching him walk back and forth and just agree. "I don't think you have a problem." I wondered why he was explaining all this to me. I believed him. I was stupid.
This happened more than once. Matt was this tall, wiry guy--he was full of nervous energy. He would walk so fast I would have to skip a little to keep up with him. He was jittery and he had a hard time sitting still. I think the pot he smoked and the alcohol he drank were, partly, a form of self-medication. He would have been better off, probably, if he'd just stuck with the pot, but it's a lot harder to come by.
One night, about a month in, we were at my studio apartment. Matt was leaning on the kitchen doorway and he said, "How can you be so sure about us?" I didn't understand him at first. I said, "I just am." He hugged me, bending me back uncomfortably because he was so tall and he forgot to bend his knees. I thought, 'I'm sure because you're sure. But if you're not sure…then what are we doing?'
The same night we had a discussion about money. He was upset and told me that he didn’t like me to pay for so much. He knew his drinking was expensive and I didn’t drink as much as he did. "We're going out all the time and you don't really drink that much."
"It's fine. We can drink more at home, if you like." He'd already finished my year-old bottle of bourbon making Manhattans. He replaced it with Wild Turkey.
"No, that's not it. You can't be paying all the time." He wriggled around, his long arms and legs twisting as he stretched closer to the crack in the window.
I didn’t understand. "It's no big deal. I don't mind paying. I have plenty of money." This wasn't exactly true, because I'd been fussing at him about money just a couple of days before.
“No, no,” he said, “that’s not it. I have to be more responsible.”
I wanted tell him I could help, but I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, looking at him as he blew smoke out the window, and felt the lines forming on my forehead.
Once he asked me, "What do you see in me? How can you like me?"
"How can I not like you?" I said. "I see so much in you. You're so smart, you're so interesting. You could do anything you want." He beamed down on me and wrapped his arm a little tighter around my shoulders as we walked to the metro. I could see so much potential in him: he had a lot of interesting ideas. He was sharp and smart--but all he did was run away from it. My expectations were like a burden. I didn’t figure that out until after we broke-up.
We were supposed to go see the reissued Vertigo at the Uptown. I've seen it before, but I really like that movie and Matt said he would go with me. He said, "I don't want to stand in line."
"Me neither, but if we go to the matinee it should be fine."
"I know where we can get a drink before--the Park Bench Pub is right across the street. I know the bartender there." He knew the bartender at a lot of places.
"Why do we need to get a drink first?"
"I can't go watch a movie completely sober. We have to get a drink."
"Okay, but I may not have anything. I don't want to fall asleep." We sat in that bar for a long time and never made it to the movie.
We spent a few weeks planning a driving trip to North Carolina that never happened. We each had a friend who wanted to go, so we were going to rent a car and the four of us would split the costs. We were sitting on his stoop on a warm February evening, discussing the plan. "You won't mind if we smoke pot in the car, right?"
"What?"
"We might need to have some beer too."
"I don't think so. It's a bad idea. I'm not getting on the freeway and driving to North Carolina with you guys smoking pot in the car. Or with beer. That's crazy. What are you thinking?"
"I knew you would say that. You need to relax about that stuff."
"If you knew what I would say, then why did you ask?"
"I can't go on a road trip with nothing to drink."
"Look, I don't care if you smoke or drink before we get on the road, but you're not doing that in the car if I'm driving. I'm renting the car anyway. You can't do that. It's not ok."
"You don't understand. You know how I am."
"You don't understand. You know how I am, and you know it's not ok with me. And that's all there is to it."
I think I must have gotten my first qualms about him after that conversation. I mentioned it to my good friend, Spesh. "He wants to smoke pot in the car. I said no."
"He's a pothead. Only a pothead can't go 4 or 5 hours without smoking."
"He said it was a road trip and that's the only way he can do a road trip."
"That's stupid. He's a druggie. That's all it is."
"I don't know. I don't understand it." Maybe "I don't want to understand it" would have been more accurate.
There was another time when he called me at work. He said he was off early and wanted to see me. He was going drinking with Dan and would call later. I waited. I made dinner, cleaned the house, watched TV. Around 11:00 pm I knew he wasn't calling and I started to cry. I thought, "How can he do this to me?" I tried to sleep, to read, but mostly I was restless and sobbed. I felt stupid. I didn't want to care, but I couldn't stop caring. I hoped I could get over it but I didn't know if I should. I couldn't tell how bad it was. It was after 1:00 am and he was at the door. I let him in and he could tell I was upset. He was drunk. "Where were you?" He tried to leave. "Coward." I said. We sat on the couch and talked. "I said I'd come over after work. I know I should have called."
"You should have called. I was waiting. I feel terrible."
"I'm sorry." I still felt bad, but we got into bed. He fell asleep almost immediately. I think you might call it "passing out" though I didn't get it at the time. I couldn't sleep. I sat on the couch for a while and read and that's where I slept. In the morning he saw me and said, "You're still there."
"Where would I go?"
I realized that his drinking wasn't just a peccadillo. It was a serious problem and it would ruin us faster than any thing I could do wrong. I was gearing up to talk him about it and then he almost stood me up. I wonder if he knew. It wasn't exactly a stand up, but an abrupt and unacceptable last minute change of plans. He said, “I’m not coming over to have dinner with you tonight. I’m going out with my friends and it will be too late.”
I said, “You're breaking our plans”
"Yes. I don't think I can do this."
"What? You don't want to see me?"
"It wouldn't be a good idea."
"Why? Why? This isn't right. No. No." I was crying. "You can't break up with me over the phone. You have to talk to me."
"I'll come over as soon I can."
We hung up. I hung up mabye a little fast. I waited. He never called. He never showed. I sat in the bathroom for a long time, crying. I needed to be in there for easy access to the toilet paper. I was out of kleenex.
I only slept for a couple of hours. I woke up at 2:00 am and tossed and turned the rest of the night. I assumed that we'd broken up. The next day was a haze of sleep-deprived misery. I couldn't take the day off because I had a site visit to Loudon County scheduled--my job involved managing research projects carried out by contractors. This was the first time I was actually going to join the contractors in doing part of a project. It was also the first project I managed completely on my own. I sat in the backseat of the contractor's car and closed my eyes, tried (and failed) not to think about Matt, tried (and failed) not to cry. I told my tale of woe to the two nice women I was traveling with and they listened and tried to encourage me. "Maybe he thought you hung up on him. Maybe he was just tired." Maybe. I spent the day finding phones and calling Matt at work. It was all terribly unprofessional. I arranged to meet him at a bar that night.
I got to the bar early and sat there, drinking a beer slowly and trying to read my book. Matt found me and introduced me to the bartender as his girlfriend. I said, "Still? Weren't we breaking up? What could he say to convince me to stay with him? Should I listen? He was sorry. He said he'd gone straight home and to sleep instead of going out with his friends or seeing me. I said, "You can't do things like that. I can't take it. I won't stick around for that." He said, "J, you were really upset. You hung up on me."
"Matt, you know very well I did not--anyway, you cancelled. I was upset. What were you thinking?"
"I don't know." I was miserable but oddly relieved. It was enough that he was sorry. I was grateful that I still had a boyfriend. The next week we even met some of my friends for dinner. He was late, but there.
Two weeks later we planned to meet a friend of mine for a drink. Matt never showed. My friend cancelled too, which was fine because I was a wreck. I thought, 'This is it. There is no recovering from this.' Spesh threw pebbles at my window that night (he could never be bothered to learn how to use the intercom). As soon as I let him in he could see I was in distress. He sat next to me on the couch and I told him I thought things were over with Matt and he tried to convince me I was wrong. "How can you be sure? Maybe something happened. He might have a good reason for not being here." I said I was sure there was no good reason and that it was over. Spesh was meeting some of the fellas and invited me along. I said I couldn’t bear it. He said we could skip the fellas and go to the movies instead. I thanked him and said, "Keep your plans, because I can't go anywhere. I have to stay here. I can't go out." I had a vigil to keep at my house, just in case Matt called. I knew he wouldn’t call, but I still had to be there.
The next day at work I couldn't stop crying. I talked to a friend on the phone and he asked me what I was doing. I didn't know. He told me to go home. I said there was nothing wrong and I had to work. He asked, why do you have to work? Then I realized I could just say I was sick and get out of there. I walked home slowly. It was a sunny spring day, the first week of April, flowers were open and the air smelled sweet. I was dazzled by the sunlight. It was as though I'd spent the last two months in the dark. I sat in the Bartholdi Park, wrote in my journal and figured out what to do next. The only way to reach Matt was to call him at work, which I did as soon as I got home.
I said, "Does this mean what I think it means?" He thought so. I was crying and I told him it was really shitty and he could have at least called me. That was the last time we spoke.
NOTE: If you think you may be in an abusive relationship, please call this number:
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.
I moved to DC in July 1999 for a research job at [Federal Agency]. When I arrived in DC I was still trying to finish my PhD dissertation in [social science] and I was at the avoid-working-on-it-at-all-costs stage. Unfortunately, work wasn't very busy, so I spent a lot of time on the internet, exchanging emails with friends and reading on-line newspapers. If real work came my way, I was eager for it. I must have spent some time on the dissertation, because during my first year in DC I managed to procure a grant to get the data I needed and get my proposal accepted (finally), as well as doing any work my boss gave me. Still, I felt horribly lazy. I was delighted to have a real job, some money in my pocket and be out from under the peon-student status of grad school. All I needed was a boyfriend. I met him at a party in February 2000.
The party was at a big group house in Mt. Pleasant. The living room was dimly lit and crowded with clumps of beer-drinking people dressed in black and ugly green, some of whom also wore hats and scarves. It was cold outside and there was a little snow on the ground. I got stuck talking to some acquantainences and I had my back against the wall. I wanted to move around, meet some of the cool kids, but one of my group handed me a beer so I didn’t have a good reason to leave. I had a good view of the front door, though, and I kept track of everyone who came in.
I saw one guy in sharp focus and I stopped listening to the conversation. He looked like trouble, gaunt and dissipated in his surplus store Navy coat and his black jeans. He had that bit of a slouch that a lot of tall men have. He walked past me and was gone. I thought, “That one. Why don’t I ever get to talk to that one?” I downed the rest of my beer and asked, “Do you know where they keep the beer?” I walked away before I got an answer.
I thought, 'I'm not looking for that guy. Right. Who, exactly, are you trying to convince? It's not like you really want more beer. Cheap date.' When I got to the back of the house, he wasn't there. There was no beer either. No fridge, in fact. I heard talking in the basement, so I went downstairs. And Trouble was there. He smiled and said, "Are you looking for beer?" 'No,' I thought, 'I'm looking for you.'
I stood on the last step of the staircase and never got any farther. Hemming me in were two fridges and three good-looking guys. Trouble (real name: Matt) found me a beer. He said, "Let's not use our real names." He called me "Julia" (Spanish pronunciation). He kept giving me "the look." Sustained eye contact. I knew what it meant, but I couldn't believe it. This guy? This very cute, dangerous looking guy was giving me the look? Frumpy, plump, hair-in-ugly-pony-tail me--that couldn't be. I hadn't bothered to wear a skirt, do anything with my hair or even put on lipstick (the only kind of make up I ever wear). Yet, I knew that look. And I looked right back.
The other two guys were Dan, a friend of Matt's, and a random guy--whose name also turned out to be Matt. Dan flirted, but not much. There was a flirting tug of war between the two Matts, though. It wasn't that much fun because it was hard to believe that these super cute young(er) guys were fighting over me. That made no sense so I just focused on "my" Matt. After a while he said, "I'm going out for a smoke." I said, "Ok." He said, "Are you coming?" I followed him upstairs and right out of that party.
Dan came outside with two women who I hadn't met yet, Kasha and Magdalena, and the five of us walked a couple of blocks to Dan's place. The boys got stoned but the girls didn't. I was tipsy and I laughed a lot. I explained to Dan that the water filter attached to his sink needed to be changed. Dan wrote down my number and stuck it on his fridge. I asked him why he wanted it and he said we would hang out again. I hung on Matt and he kept his arm on my shoulder for most of the night. Magdalena asked me if Matt was my boyfriend. I said we'd just met. "You just met, tonight? At the party?"
"Yes. Tonight. At the party. Like I just met you."
She asked, "Are you ok? If you want you can come over to my place and sleep on the extra bed."
"I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"Are you sure? The extra bed is really comfy."
I stage-whispered to Matt that she was awfully worried about me, but I knew what I was doing.
It was after 3:00am and the girls left. Dan went upstairs to sleep. Matt took me to a back room that only had a twin bed shoved against the wall. There was a tiny basement window and no lamp. I wasn’t sure how we were going to sleep, but Matt was so skinny that we both fit on the bed almost comfortably. We kissed, but not for long, since the alcohol caught up with us. Dreams about the party and Matt kept waking me. I also promised Matt I would get him up in time for him to go to work at 8:00 am (he was a waiter and was working the Sunday brunch shift), which led to my waking every hour to check my watch. We still overslept. He walked me through the snow to the metro. We barely spoke. I said, “I don’t have your number.” He said, “No. I have yours.”
On Sunday I didn't wait for Matt to call because I was still sure he would. On Monday, I waited all day and started to doubt that I would hear from him. By Tuesday I was sure he wouldn't call. At 10:00 pm I was in bed, reading, cordless phone beside me. It rang. I said, "I wondered if you were going to call."
"Did you want me to call?" Matt asked.
"Of course."
"I wasn't sure if I should call you. I asked all my friends if I should."
"What did they say?" I asked.
"They said, 'If you like her, you should call her.'"
"You should listen to your friends."
Our first date set the pattern for the rest of our relationship. I met him at the top of the escalator at the Columbia Heights metro. He gave me a back-bending hug. We were really happy to see each other--it felt like it had been a long time. We walked to Adams Morgan and ran into the "other" Matt from the party. I didn't recognize him, but my Matt did. They did a little chest puffing thing before the "other" Matt went on his way. "He's not happy. He was pretty surprised to see us together."
"Really, are you sure?"
"Oh yes, he was jealous."
"I didn't even think he liked me."
"We all liked you. Dan liked you too."
"No way. Dan wasn't interested. I don't think I'm his type."
"You are. You're everyone's type." That made me smile.
Over dinner at an unremarkable Indian restaurant, Matt talked a lot. He gestured a lot. We both smiled a lot. After dinner, we went to Tryst and I got hot chocolate. It was a weeknight, so I wasn't inclined to drink. I can't remember if Matt had beer at the restaurant, but he must have had something. I don't remember what he had at Tryst. I remember that I didn't want the evening to end. It didn't end until the next morning.
After that first date, I thought of Matt as my boyfriend. We couldn't stop touching each other. It was intoxicating.
Matt was certain that we were meant to be together. He would tell me how wonderful I was; how perfect my body was. How guys who liked skinny girls were crazy. "Most men want women who look like women--but they can't always admit it. I used to be like that." I would smile and nod. He was crazily, constantly affectionate. He called me several times a day. He left rambling, affectionate (drunken?) messages on my answering machine telling me I was beautiful. I guess it's impossible to underestimate the power of affectionate actions and flattering words.
Being with Matt left me in an almost constant state of sleep deprivation due to his late night and irregular work schedule. That's life as a waiter. We wasted nights and afternoons in bars and never actually went to the movies. I believed him when he said that we would last. He was younger than me by six years, but had had a couple of year plus relationships. I took this as a sign that he was capable of having a long term relationship and that we were beginning one. Eating breakfast in the Engels Diner in Mt. Pleasant, a few blocks from his rented room in Columbia Heights, he told me about his downward mobility.
I said, "People think we shouldn't be together. They don't understand. They think you're bad for me, but I think you're good for me." He said, "Would you date me if I still owned a car? I had to get rid of it because it was too expensive but it has saved me from drinking and driving." I impressed him with my excess of education, but he never asked me about my dissertation. I floated along on his enthusiasm for us and his displays of affection.
I remember watching him pace around my apartment, telling me that he didn't have a problem. "I just like to drink, that's not a problem. I don't know why they think I'm an alcoholic. People don't drink like they used to. I don't have a problem." I would sit there, watching him walk back and forth and just agree. "I don't think you have a problem." I wondered why he was explaining all this to me. I believed him. I was stupid.
This happened more than once. Matt was this tall, wiry guy--he was full of nervous energy. He would walk so fast I would have to skip a little to keep up with him. He was jittery and he had a hard time sitting still. I think the pot he smoked and the alcohol he drank were, partly, a form of self-medication. He would have been better off, probably, if he'd just stuck with the pot, but it's a lot harder to come by.
One night, about a month in, we were at my studio apartment. Matt was leaning on the kitchen doorway and he said, "How can you be so sure about us?" I didn't understand him at first. I said, "I just am." He hugged me, bending me back uncomfortably because he was so tall and he forgot to bend his knees. I thought, 'I'm sure because you're sure. But if you're not sure…then what are we doing?'
The same night we had a discussion about money. He was upset and told me that he didn’t like me to pay for so much. He knew his drinking was expensive and I didn’t drink as much as he did. "We're going out all the time and you don't really drink that much."
"It's fine. We can drink more at home, if you like." He'd already finished my year-old bottle of bourbon making Manhattans. He replaced it with Wild Turkey.
"No, that's not it. You can't be paying all the time." He wriggled around, his long arms and legs twisting as he stretched closer to the crack in the window.
I didn’t understand. "It's no big deal. I don't mind paying. I have plenty of money." This wasn't exactly true, because I'd been fussing at him about money just a couple of days before.
“No, no,” he said, “that’s not it. I have to be more responsible.”
I wanted tell him I could help, but I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, looking at him as he blew smoke out the window, and felt the lines forming on my forehead.
Once he asked me, "What do you see in me? How can you like me?"
"How can I not like you?" I said. "I see so much in you. You're so smart, you're so interesting. You could do anything you want." He beamed down on me and wrapped his arm a little tighter around my shoulders as we walked to the metro. I could see so much potential in him: he had a lot of interesting ideas. He was sharp and smart--but all he did was run away from it. My expectations were like a burden. I didn’t figure that out until after we broke-up.
We were supposed to go see the reissued Vertigo at the Uptown. I've seen it before, but I really like that movie and Matt said he would go with me. He said, "I don't want to stand in line."
"Me neither, but if we go to the matinee it should be fine."
"I know where we can get a drink before--the Park Bench Pub is right across the street. I know the bartender there." He knew the bartender at a lot of places.
"Why do we need to get a drink first?"
"I can't go watch a movie completely sober. We have to get a drink."
"Okay, but I may not have anything. I don't want to fall asleep." We sat in that bar for a long time and never made it to the movie.
We spent a few weeks planning a driving trip to North Carolina that never happened. We each had a friend who wanted to go, so we were going to rent a car and the four of us would split the costs. We were sitting on his stoop on a warm February evening, discussing the plan. "You won't mind if we smoke pot in the car, right?"
"What?"
"We might need to have some beer too."
"I don't think so. It's a bad idea. I'm not getting on the freeway and driving to North Carolina with you guys smoking pot in the car. Or with beer. That's crazy. What are you thinking?"
"I knew you would say that. You need to relax about that stuff."
"If you knew what I would say, then why did you ask?"
"I can't go on a road trip with nothing to drink."
"Look, I don't care if you smoke or drink before we get on the road, but you're not doing that in the car if I'm driving. I'm renting the car anyway. You can't do that. It's not ok."
"You don't understand. You know how I am."
"You don't understand. You know how I am, and you know it's not ok with me. And that's all there is to it."
I think I must have gotten my first qualms about him after that conversation. I mentioned it to my good friend, Spesh. "He wants to smoke pot in the car. I said no."
"He's a pothead. Only a pothead can't go 4 or 5 hours without smoking."
"He said it was a road trip and that's the only way he can do a road trip."
"That's stupid. He's a druggie. That's all it is."
"I don't know. I don't understand it." Maybe "I don't want to understand it" would have been more accurate.
There was another time when he called me at work. He said he was off early and wanted to see me. He was going drinking with Dan and would call later. I waited. I made dinner, cleaned the house, watched TV. Around 11:00 pm I knew he wasn't calling and I started to cry. I thought, "How can he do this to me?" I tried to sleep, to read, but mostly I was restless and sobbed. I felt stupid. I didn't want to care, but I couldn't stop caring. I hoped I could get over it but I didn't know if I should. I couldn't tell how bad it was. It was after 1:00 am and he was at the door. I let him in and he could tell I was upset. He was drunk. "Where were you?" He tried to leave. "Coward." I said. We sat on the couch and talked. "I said I'd come over after work. I know I should have called."
"You should have called. I was waiting. I feel terrible."
"I'm sorry." I still felt bad, but we got into bed. He fell asleep almost immediately. I think you might call it "passing out" though I didn't get it at the time. I couldn't sleep. I sat on the couch for a while and read and that's where I slept. In the morning he saw me and said, "You're still there."
"Where would I go?"
I realized that his drinking wasn't just a peccadillo. It was a serious problem and it would ruin us faster than any thing I could do wrong. I was gearing up to talk him about it and then he almost stood me up. I wonder if he knew. It wasn't exactly a stand up, but an abrupt and unacceptable last minute change of plans. He said, “I’m not coming over to have dinner with you tonight. I’m going out with my friends and it will be too late.”
I said, “You're breaking our plans”
"Yes. I don't think I can do this."
"What? You don't want to see me?"
"It wouldn't be a good idea."
"Why? Why? This isn't right. No. No." I was crying. "You can't break up with me over the phone. You have to talk to me."
"I'll come over as soon I can."
We hung up. I hung up mabye a little fast. I waited. He never called. He never showed. I sat in the bathroom for a long time, crying. I needed to be in there for easy access to the toilet paper. I was out of kleenex.
I only slept for a couple of hours. I woke up at 2:00 am and tossed and turned the rest of the night. I assumed that we'd broken up. The next day was a haze of sleep-deprived misery. I couldn't take the day off because I had a site visit to Loudon County scheduled--my job involved managing research projects carried out by contractors. This was the first time I was actually going to join the contractors in doing part of a project. It was also the first project I managed completely on my own. I sat in the backseat of the contractor's car and closed my eyes, tried (and failed) not to think about Matt, tried (and failed) not to cry. I told my tale of woe to the two nice women I was traveling with and they listened and tried to encourage me. "Maybe he thought you hung up on him. Maybe he was just tired." Maybe. I spent the day finding phones and calling Matt at work. It was all terribly unprofessional. I arranged to meet him at a bar that night.
I got to the bar early and sat there, drinking a beer slowly and trying to read my book. Matt found me and introduced me to the bartender as his girlfriend. I said, "Still? Weren't we breaking up? What could he say to convince me to stay with him? Should I listen? He was sorry. He said he'd gone straight home and to sleep instead of going out with his friends or seeing me. I said, "You can't do things like that. I can't take it. I won't stick around for that." He said, "J, you were really upset. You hung up on me."
"Matt, you know very well I did not--anyway, you cancelled. I was upset. What were you thinking?"
"I don't know." I was miserable but oddly relieved. It was enough that he was sorry. I was grateful that I still had a boyfriend. The next week we even met some of my friends for dinner. He was late, but there.
Two weeks later we planned to meet a friend of mine for a drink. Matt never showed. My friend cancelled too, which was fine because I was a wreck. I thought, 'This is it. There is no recovering from this.' Spesh threw pebbles at my window that night (he could never be bothered to learn how to use the intercom). As soon as I let him in he could see I was in distress. He sat next to me on the couch and I told him I thought things were over with Matt and he tried to convince me I was wrong. "How can you be sure? Maybe something happened. He might have a good reason for not being here." I said I was sure there was no good reason and that it was over. Spesh was meeting some of the fellas and invited me along. I said I couldn’t bear it. He said we could skip the fellas and go to the movies instead. I thanked him and said, "Keep your plans, because I can't go anywhere. I have to stay here. I can't go out." I had a vigil to keep at my house, just in case Matt called. I knew he wouldn’t call, but I still had to be there.
The next day at work I couldn't stop crying. I talked to a friend on the phone and he asked me what I was doing. I didn't know. He told me to go home. I said there was nothing wrong and I had to work. He asked, why do you have to work? Then I realized I could just say I was sick and get out of there. I walked home slowly. It was a sunny spring day, the first week of April, flowers were open and the air smelled sweet. I was dazzled by the sunlight. It was as though I'd spent the last two months in the dark. I sat in the Bartholdi Park, wrote in my journal and figured out what to do next. The only way to reach Matt was to call him at work, which I did as soon as I got home.
I said, "Does this mean what I think it means?" He thought so. I was crying and I told him it was really shitty and he could have at least called me. That was the last time we spoke.
NOTE: If you think you may be in an abusive relationship, please call this number:
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.
posted by Jamy at 7:50 PM
10 Comments:
I just dated someone who I was friends with first (so I thought) and liked. I didnt know although many do apparently - he is an alcoholic. He said many really nice, meaningful things to me - many when he was really drunk and I had no idea.
Alcoholics don't REMEMBER what happens, can change personalities when drunk - hence, you fall for someone who they are NOT, black out, drink far more than you know, and WILL LET YOU DOWN OVER AND OVER. You are lucky to get away and he will not be reliable or good to anyone. He loves drinking more and it will only get worse.
I got sucked in by an alcoholic and foolishly let him move in with me right away. It's been hell ever since. Eight months later, and many, many tears and violent fights later, he still refuses to leave or get a job and help with the finances. I know that the only way to get him out is to file a restraining order with kick out orders, but it's hard to stick to my guns. Every time I'm ready to do it, he turns on the charm. My whole family and all my friends say the same things. They all think he's bad for me, that he's abusive, and I know that they are right. Still, I hang on by a thread. My senior year of college is coming up, and this idiot will be undermining my efforts unless I get him out. God help me and give me the strength to get him out of my life! You were lucky that you escaped "Trouble" and he went away easily. A clingy, dependent alcoholic is a total nightmare. I've promised myself that when I get out of this mess, I'll choose my dates verrrrry carefully and run the other way as fast and far as possible at the first signs of alcoholism, drug addiction or abusiveness.
I have been in a relationship with an alcoholic for over a year now. when we were first together everything was fine, he was sweet and charming. When we first started dating, he would drink pretty much every day and smoke weed. well since we have been together he has quit smoking pot, and only drinks on the weekends, because now he has a full time job that he didnt have b4 we were together! but i always dread the weekends, cuz he always pics fights with me and it went from just verbal abuse to physical. luckly i know how to defend myself and fight back....but that shook me bad! after that night i havnt trusted him when he drinks. i dont know what he will do next! the problem is that durring the week everything with us is great! and i love him so much! more than i have loved anyone! and on the weekend i absolutly despise him and dont want to be around him! i find myself stuck! you were really lucky to have the strength that u did and get rid of him b4 it turned to a worse situation for you! u never know what people are capable of when they are drunk! i am very happy for you and hope your life is going how you want it to!! : )
~Ashley
I found this posting because I just got off the phone with my boyfriend of 16 months, he loves me so much and was so charming at first, I thought I been smart and found a real gem. Good looking, funny, lots to say, great lover, and sweet to me. I let him move in with me after 4 months, before he was sleeping on his Dad's couch, there were so many red flags in the beginning, but I was too caught up in all that was good, and there was a lot of it. Him going to the bars in the beginning didn't bother me cause I had my friends and was doing my thing, yet over time I have isolated myself, don't go out with my friends anymore and like now, sit home waiting while he gets wasted. I should have known, father ruined his life and is an alcoholic, I felt in a way maybe that I could "fix" him or make him a better person. He has come a long way, but still falls into the same pattern. Tonight I said to him on the phone when he called, cause he thinks if he calls everything is OK, but I said, "I can't keep doing this, I can't live with a drunk, I deserve more and I am wasting my time." I wanted him so bad to say he would come home and choose me and our new puppy over the booze, but here I sit alone with a pit in my stomach not knowing what to do. The problem is we have so much fun together and I know he truly love me, I am a smart girl and I guess to admit that I am powerless over something as stupid as a beverage would feel like giving up. It's gotten to the point some of my friends think I should leave him and I remember back to times I knew guys were bad for my friends and telling them, but now that I am in the reverse position I somehow can't seem to get it that this is nothing but bad news. I am 25 and have a lot going for me and heard once "Don't waste your pretty." I am starting to feel time close in, but I keep sticking around, 2 months now things have been rocky, but it all is so complicated. Like some of the other girls I find myself stuck, stuck between being alone and being with someone who has an addiction. Not to mention wanting to help the one I love. When is enough enough, earlier tonight I said tonight...but I know I am not strong enough. We have fun together, the kicker is I like to drink too, so it messes things all up, me one night a week on the weekend, but with him there are no limits, and he suffers at work and financially as a result. I know I have been rambeling, but it feels good to get this out. How do I get out??? I love this guy, he loves me, but loves alcohol more. I won't live a life alone and second to this beast!
I sympathize with all of the above. I just realized a little while ago that the man of my dreams, or nightmares, is an alcoholic. He is massively in denial because he thinks an alcoholic is someone who drinks everyday. My step-father was an alcoholic so every time i bring it uo to my boyfriend, he fraks out on me. we always get nto an argument. Finally the ohter weekend he got considerably hammered, like he always promised he wouldn't anymore. He had his friends at his apartment who only brought more booze and fuelled the situation. i told him that i was leaving because he was too drunk. he then proceeded to call me a bitch, and other very derogatory terms, and slammed the bedroom door on me. i heard him go into the living room infront of his friends and start yelling to them about our personal issues. he started telling them confidential things about me. he came back in the room and told me to get the fuck out. so i tried to leave, but when i did he grabbed me hard and stuck a knife into the wall beside me. he was grabing me and wouldn't let me leave until i told him i was calling the cops.
The next day i called him to tell hm i was getting my stuff from the apartment. when i went over he was all quiet and stern. i know he did not rememeber anything about last night. so i quietly packed my stuff, and on the way out he said to me "remember that you wanted this". i became so angry that i threw a couple of dvd's i had in my hand at him. he returned the favour by throwing a barrage of things back and they exploded everywhere. he was screaming to me that he "would murder me if i ever did that again" so i ran as fast as i could.
He called me early the next morning to say that he called a hotline for help. he will be getting a mental assesment in a few weeks, and he apoligized....what the hell am i going to do now??? he cried to me and told me to give him sometime to get help, but i don't think i can hold ou for him, cause i cannot trust him anymore
Reading this post I relived many, many moments in my life. I dated a variation of this guy 4 times. The last one was by far the very worst of the bunch. I applaud you for not going back to it. Its an extremely hard thing to do. We tend to see the potential these people have, the possibilities, not the downsides. The downsides are always the same. I am forever grateful that I did not getting any more involved with the last one than I did. We were engaged to be married, that is how sucked in I was, and finally the sheer amount of alcohol he could injest and still be coherent was beyond anything I could believe. When he made a big drunken scene at my workplace, which houses a school, daycare centre and several offices, I knew the time had come to stop the insanity. That was almost four years ago. After much therapy I am over it and have given myself a break. It won't happen again. Thanks for being so open in sharing this. I hope it helps people who are falling into this hellish kind of situation before things go too far. No one deserves to go through the pain of living with an alcoholic that you love. Or that you THINK you love.
Thank you for this story. I love how you spelled it all out for us. It was probably healthy for you to get it all out, too. I'm actually in the process of writing a novel about what I went through for over four years in my twenties with the love of my life. I finally ended it two years ago. Al-Anon really helped me because I thought I was going crazy (and I kind of was). It was good to talk and have people nod at you instead of shaking their heads in disbelief. I feel better about myself than I have in years, whereas every time I see him out, he is red-faced and draining the last from a pint glass. I think of him daily, and I still miss aspects of our relationship. But no, I will NEVER allow anyone to make me live with that perpetual anxiety and pain ever again, and then blame me for it. I hope this comment finds you healthy and happy. Thanks again.
I see aspects of my exboyfriend and me in many of these comments. My ex and I were together for almost four years, during his long drinking bouts and equally long bouts of sobriety. But he eventually decided he couldn't "do it anymore" and dumped me for another alcoholic who is married, homeless, was living under a bridge, looks like a scarecrow, and can't walk much after a couple shots of vodka. Rumor is she also quite a slut, and will use people to get whatever she needs. Even though my mind knows their relationship is of the parasite nature and getting alcohol is their mutual love, it is a bitter pill to swallow that he would leave what we had (which granted was not perfect, and at times difficult) to be with her. He even chased her around around the country, and eventually moved to Florida. I figure, they are now both homeless, so they might as well be somewhere warm. When we were together he had a job he loved, a great apartment, a super cat, me, and at least hope for a good life. Since then he lost his job, a home-but he tells his family he is doing great. He has this woman he loves, no accountability to a job, free food, a family that sends him money out of pity, adventures galore, a constant drinking companion, whatever... The crazy part is the aching I still have for him. He has clearly moved on, and I am too...but I still have a hard time dealing with the breakup. Sometimes I wonder if I was such a monster that living under a bridge was better than being with me. He didn't bother to tell me, instead I found out by the other woman's husband that he found the two of them "f***ing" when he went to go to sleep under this forementioned bridge. There is always more the any story, this being no exception. But it hurts to much to tell. What I wonder though is this-how does the heart cut the final string?
I read this post and I want to cry.
I am in this situation as a woman who loves an alcoholic (we've been dating for about a year) and he recently checked himself in for medical detox treatment. I know he's out of the detox and was intending to follow a program (not aa though as he's atheist). I've texted him twice since he's been out of the detox and he's not replied (which is rare) and has me very stressed out and upset..also because I know he lives with someone (someone who loves him, but is definitely not good for him).
I wish I knew what was going on and you are right about potential. We invest so much time and energy into their potential, that we limit our own.
The sad thing is that I can't wrap my head around it. I do love him and I feel he does love me, but he's also very confused about his life in general... maybe the detox helped him see clearly and he decided to end things. Who knows.
Thank you man, its just love . and THANKS for this great post , its really informative and readable.
Actually i found the same kinda stuff when i was reading about National boyfriend day 2018 on another site also , so i came across yours site as well.
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