“Admitting failure is never easy for me. Losing isn’t really an option. I literally hate being wrong.
This time, though, I have to be content knowing that I tried my hardest.
I feel like that’s something losers say. Or parents of losers. Like…at least you tried your hardest… you’ll get ’em next time.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t a game I lost or an assignment I didn’t complete. It is so much more than that. I failed. Again.
I left my husband. We are divorced. The relationship is over. Our marriage failed.
I really had no control over the circumstances that ultimately led me to file for divorce. It was me, admittedly, that finally threw in the towel. I was the one to say…n I quit. I didn’t use those exact words but something like that. I gave up. I couldn’t do it any longer. I freaking quit.
I literally don’t think I’ve ever quit anything in my life. Certainly not something I took so seriously, held so closely and wanted so badly.
Anyone that knows my story thinks I’m crazy for feeling like I’ve failed. That doesn’t really help though. Ending my marriage wasn’t actually even the hardest part of my latest failure to accept. I knew my marriage was over a long time ago…if I’m being honest. Giving up on my dream of happily ever after…on the other hand… was almost impossible. I failed my big plan again. Or maybe my big plan failed me. That’s probably why I stayed for as long as I did. I mean…I know that’s why I stayed for as long as I did. I did try, though. Hard. I don’t ever give up on things but this time I was forced to…
I wanted… expected… my happily ever after.
But, at least I tried my hardest.
I think I knew that things would never be the same pretty early on in Kyle’s addiction but I don’t think I ever realized that it would be something that would cause me to walk away from him. I begged him to get a hold of himself countless times. He always convinced me he had it under control. And I believed that for over a year. The strangest thing when I look back, though, is that I never thought of him or looked at him like an addict. I’m pretty sure I never called him one either. I said that he was addicted to pain pills… or Adderall… or meth… but I never said that he was an addict. Not like an addict-addict, anyway.
Last October, all of that changed. I had to admit that my husband was an addict. My ability to hide it from everyone was over in the most public of ways. I had to tell a police officer that my husband was an addict after he finished taking pictures of the handprints… cuts… grass stains and rug burns that were all over my body. I had to tell my mom and dad that he was an addict after I called them to come to my house because my husband had been arrested for domestic violence. I had to tell my neighbor he was an addict while I hid myself in his garage while we waited for the police to arrive. I had to tell my friend he was an addict after her mother-in-law walked by my house and saw my husband sitting in the police car. Worst of all… I had to look my two oldest boys in the eye when I told them Kyle was an addict and that he wouldn’t be around for a while because he had been arrested for domestic violence earlier that day. I had to watch them break down in tears out of fear for me. And no matter what I said to convince them that I was fine… it didn’t matter. The what ifs took over their thoughts and consumed their little minds. They felt a pain that I never imagined they would. It literally broke my heart.
And that’s addiction. It destroys thoughts… it corrupts minds…. it breaks hearts… and it hurts. So bad.
Imagine what it does to the addict.
I can’t even begin to fathom what was going through my husband’s mind that day…or even today, for that matter.
While this incident… this life altering, big plan changing incident…was enough for me to know that things had to change… it wasn’t enough for my husband. I prayed that this would be his rock bottom. He spent five days in jail, and I think he thought that it was his rock bottom.
It wasn’t his rock bottom.
To be honest, I’m still not sure if he’s hit his rock bottom. I pray for him. I pray for my kids. I pray for my sanity, my future, and my happiness.
I’ve learned first-hand that the emotional ups and downs of loving an addict or abuser can cause someone to lose hope for a better life. I believe that there is a possibility that a happily ever might exist for all of us. The courage I found to share my story comes from the hope that other might start speaking up as well.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Abby Croman, 40, of Marion, Ohio. You can follow her on Instagram here or her website here. Submit your story here, and subscribe to our best love stories here.
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