Tonight is a monsoon. I’m on my fourth beer, and number three in my current run of expired PBRs. I’ve had a few shots of Tennessee Fire, as well. I’ve broken my one rule of drinking at home; don’t do it when the kids are here.
I’m sick and tired of my life going nowhere. I’ve had it with this PTSD. I haven’t been able to find work in almost three years because my military service is basically my only job experience. Unfortunately, when that gets brought up in a job interview, I freeze up, trying to force those memories out of the moment.
I’m watching the love of my life slip away. Remembering the good times with her takes up more time than the memories of shooting a child and getting intestines on my PT shorts from the dead and dying bodies I moved one night.
Those moments with her keep coming back as fleeting moments of happiness, followed by exhausting fits of remorse. In the five years we’ve been divorced, I’ve been going to therapy. In those five years, I’ve grown closer to her, only to have my hand slapped away when I’m close enough to take her in my arms.
Everything has happened to us while we try to find each other again. Life. Death. Addiction. Legal problems. Love.
Why the hell am I not worthy of her love? I want my soulmate back. I’m not just a dad! I’ve become everything she said she wanted me to be, and that is a happy byproduct of my therapy, not a false attempt to lure her back into misery just to quell my insecurities. I’m a better person.
I’ve come far enough in my treatment to be heartbroken. I wouldn’t have given a damn before if I didn’t care about myself enough to learn how to care for my family.
I can’t understand how she feels about me, but I’ve spent enough time in therapy and online support groups to have an idea. I know I hurt her. I treated her like nothing because I felt less than nothing. I was becoming another statistic in the War on Terror. I didn’t deserve her, and the fact that she loved me back then made no sense to me. I was mean and distant. When things didn’t make sense, I treated them like an enemy. This curse turned me against the only thing that made me feel human.
I used to drink a lot. When we first met, I was perpetually drunk. The problem with me being constantly inebriated is that I was a very high-functioning alcoholic. I was always aware. The booze only pushed away my long-term memories. The drunk me was who she fell in love with. When I found out we were expecting a child, I stopped being drunk all the time. I stopped drinking at work, drinking while driving, and keeping booze in the house.
I was raised in Texas. We have a powerful family ethic. We didn’t take unnecessary risks when children were involved. The day her pregnancy was confirmed, I made myself a set of rules. The most important was that I’d never drink if there was the slightest chance my son would need me in the next 12 hours.
It seems I need to revise that rule. I have to get these memories of her out of my head. I can’t see her holding back tears anymore. I can’t see her disappointment in me anymore. I can’t watch her leave anymore.
I have to go back to the me she loved, because that’s the only place I have ever belonged. I know drinking is bad for me, but not having her is even worse. I’m writing this before my cognitive function ceases. I’ll read it tomorrow and regret everything, I’m sure.
God, please help me…
Next day update
Well, I figured I’d regret it. I went to sleep without crying or feeling angry. As a matter of fact, I felt nothing until I woke up at around 5. I just stared at her while she slept. She’s so beautiful.
Now I want to start drinking again. I’m glad I drank everything we had except the Guinness Nitro. I can’t stand that stuff.