@Yolo89
My severe anxiety was that every night, I didn’t know what I was going to come home to. It used to tie me up in knots.
I used to stay at work or someone else’s house or the supermarket for as long as possible to avoid it.
He used to drink and drive to work. Used to drink at work, could’ve been cutting your hair. Used to go AWOL for days at a time. Lost numerous jobs, made up numerous lies to employers about why he’d gone AWOL. Think he believed his own lies about how many times his gran had died.
Money was always an issue. To the point where in winter, when it snowed, he wouldn’t put the heating on for more than an hour a day. Wanted to save all his money for booze and bets.
One night I volunteered to work a late night event, I walked in to find the alcoholic passed out on the sofa. A living room filled with smoke. He’d lit a fire, using damp wood.
Some days I’m glad I came home when I did. Other days I think I’d have saved some other mug the bother if I hadn’t.
He didn’t change after that. But I did. He could’ve killed us both.
I used all my people favours, took all the support I could, someone very kindly paid for a van for me to move house, someone else volunteered their time to drive it. I stayed up until 4am packing. I told everyone the truth, I was overwhelmed by how many people wanted to help.
The night I moved out (and I didn’t tell him - his name on the tenancy, the estate agent had contacted me asking to put my name on it and I told them a few home truths, they decided to evict in the end). The night I moved out, I took a picture of my face in my new home.
I looked different. I felt like I had gone on holiday. The weight of the world had been lifted. I was at last safe. I physically looked ten years younger.
What you don’t see when you are in it, is just how much it affects you. I implore you, really I do, just...let go of him. You can’t save him, when they are in this all consuming stage, they don’t care about you. They don’t care about anyone. They care about the next drink or bet and how to find it.
You do only live once. And yes, it’s hard. And yes it broke me. And no, I wasn’t doing a dissertation and I wasn’t peri-menopausal. But I was at rock bottom and I had nothing left. And the best way I can describe how the hell I made it through is to say I behaved like an alcoholic. I took one hour at a time, this hour I’m seeing a property, this hour I work, this hour I pack, this hour I load the van, this hour we go to new place. I did that for a week.
If I had thought about a whole week I would’ve drowned. But I broke things down into the smallest of steps. Because that’s all I could take.
Yolo, one way or another you’re going to have to do this. You can choose to do it now, on your terms, or when you’re evicted. At least if you choose the terms and the timescale you can ask for the support you need.
Right now, time is on your side. In July that might not be the same.