How alcohol might’ve saved my marriage

Two drinks for one
And the other one over the eight
Two hurting souls who for too long told their pain to wait
“Not now, not now
It’s not the time”
And so pain festered, bubbling like young wine
Which, mixed with old wine
Fostered quite an energy
Turned toward the Other; God; Self – all enemy
All safeguards off
Slack lips slung barbs
To justify two broken hearts in trampled shards
Hurts turned round
And used to hurt the other
Depths plumbed in the well of pain discovered
No punches pulled
The anger came to head
No punches caught but to sleep in separate beds
But given time
“This really is too hard”
She drunkly thunk, and caught him off his guard
Quite unawares
When prepared for more attack
Her words “I don’t hate you, just want our babies back.”
Gates unlocked
In spite of impropriety
The truths poured out too tender for sobriety
With vision blurred
And salt-slicked face
Two reached, touched, fell in grief’s embrace
Abandoned now
All vestiges of self-respect
Two curled and cried and keened and wept and wept
Later, spent
With snot and tears run dry
Spoke softly with “I love you” as reply
Ten Things of Thankful
1. Alcohol. There has been too much pain, too deeply buried and internalised to share properly, and Husby and I have been very bad at sharing it with one another (though up until last night, we’d both tell you we’d been good at it)  so we’ve both hung onto it and let it gnaw away at us until the pain of being in my own head was too much and I decided I’d get drunk. Frankly, a bad plan, but seeing as Husby had a couple of drinks as well, we managed to reach a degree of angry honesty we’d not found before (ah the liberation of the drunken tongue), then discovered that we were both feeling the same hurts and turning them against one another rather than recognising them and addressing them together. Which we promptly did. It was messy, and I’m surprised that the neighbours weren’t round this morning to ask what the hell was going on, which leads me to;
2. Crying. Very cathartic and hugely, massively healing, which I know, but don’t subscribe to. I’ve historically been so uptight about crying – I think it’s a control thing. Not being in control definitely scares me, so when I’ve cried about all the crap going on, it’s been a case of tears spilling over from the very tip of a massive iceberg of pain which has built up and was being firmly kept under wraps.  The past few months have been characterised by me hanging desperately onto my composure and only allowing a few tears out at a time. Last night, with the help of alcohol, I didn’t need to hang on any more – I could let go and boy, did the floodgates ever open! I must’ve cried and snotted out at least half the iceberg in a massive bout of abandoned crying, which, in spite of the extreme levels of pain causing it, felt really good.
3. Crying together. Slightly different, I know, but because Husby’s a bloke, and blokes do things differently, he’s been holding this whole infertility/miscarriage thing at arm’s length and has repeatedly told me he’s not prepared to engage with it fully until it happens for good. I’ve struggled with this, but last night he held me and cried with me, so I now know that he does care really, which is much easier to live with.
4. Cup of teas – perfect to rehydrate (and try to mitigate the effects of excessive alcohol)
5. My Sis, who responded very graciously to a violent message sent to her (about my situation) while I was still in the throes of anger (pre-cry)
6. My friend, Shinobi, who talked me down from my tree at several drunken points in the evening
7. My nother Friend, Patchwork, who checked in with me that I was ok this morning (having chatted to her at the beginning of last night and confessed that I intended to get drunk to deal with it) and who cautioned that it wasn’t the best plan in the world, but conceded that it might help and was pleased with me when it did.
8. My bed and long, restful sleep.
9. My Mum, who (as I recall) supplied the wine in the first place but refused to pour me any more after the 9th or 10th glass. It was our homebrewed blackberry 2012, as well, which is delicious to get squiffy on.
10. Today. The sun is out, I’m seeing my Explorer Friend later (we’re going to attempt the Greenway and not get lost this time) and normal service has been resumed (for now).

7 thoughts on “How alcohol might’ve saved my marriage

  1. Brutiful. The mood certainly came through your poem. Loved the Thankfuls after too! Followed link from your response on 'Actual Pastors' blog, which ironically I found following a Fbook link about the struggles of parenting small children. I'm sorry and moved by the hideous situation in which you find yourselves. So glad you had a great fight and cleared some of the crap out from between you.
    I don't (think I) know you, just wanted to encourage you. And thank you for sharing.


  2. Sometimes, it takes a fight like that to create the bridge you need. I hope you both are doing better. And the poem is very raw, powerful, and healing. Nice job.


  3. Yes – that was definitely not a drunk effort (it might've rhymed if it were, but would have been very badly spelled). I hope we can continue without the alcohol, though it had its uses.

    I was quite astonished by how good the good cry felt, even though it was so desperate and sad, afterwards I felt…unburdened somehow.

    We didn't get lost this time, sorry – we did play the alphabet game three ways on the walk though.


  4. That is an impressive poem. I'm assuming you wrote it after sobering up.
    I'm glad the unconventional worked for you in this situation. It sounds like a wonderful coming together was had, and hopefully will continue (without the alcohol). 🙂
    It is amazing what a good cry can do for you, isn't it?
    I'm glad you had good friends and family to turn to.
    And part of me hopes you do get lost, as I still giggle when I think about your last adventure.


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