Husband, you drink too much.
You aren’t a mean drunk, and you don’t slur your speech, or act out of control.
I would never ever fear for myself or our kids.
But you drink too much.
The giant empty liquor bottle that was supposed to last a little while lasted only a few days. It taunts me as it sits empty on the counter, left behind from last night. I glare at it as I pour my coffee early in the morning with a baby on my hip, already knowing that when I basically drag you out of bed in an hour or two, you will tell me that you don’t know why you don’t feel great. I know why. If you were honest with yourself, you probably do, too.
A beer or two (or three) in the afternoon after work, and another with dinner and at least two large liquor drinks before I go to bed alone. Everyday.
Is this alcoholism?
I thought alcoholics stumbled and passed out and threw up. I thought they went to bars and risked driving drunk and were easily recognizable. But maybe they’re more disguised than that? Maybe they are more recognizable by the giant liquor store purchases that happen a few times a month instead of a few times a year. Or by the always present glass of booze in Dad’s hand no matter what the activity is in the evening because you do still participate in our kids’ lives; it’s just always with one hand because the other is clutching your drink. Or by the number of empty alcoholic drink containers I’m always embarrassed to have in our recycling. I’ve always been grateful our recycling company comes early, hoping that not too many of our neighbors noticed.
Husband, you drink too much.
I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve talked to you about it and you recognize what I’m saying and change for a day or two. Sometimes even a week. It never lasts, though.
I don’t want our kids thinking this is normal. Is this normal? I don’t think so.
