The thing I’ve found about living with an addict is that I just never know what’s next.
My husband is – allegedly – off pills and has cut back on the alcohol. That would be terrific, except:
1. I know it is temporary.
2. He has substituted it with a new addiction: sleep.
I am not joking: he is sleeping 12-15 hours a day. He works nights, presumably 12 hour shifts, though it’s rare he works more than 8. Then, he gets home around 4 am and goes to sleep. At 5 pm, I try to rouse him. Some days I can, sone days I can’t.
As I’ve mentioned, I am a sleep deprived new mom. I get – on a good night – 6 hours of sleep. I also deal with our three kids, ages 4 and under, all alone from 6 am until he wakes (not counting the midnight hours with the baby). I do all the cleaning, all the cooking, all the laundry. I do everything except pay the bilks and take out the trash (though i’ve been taking over trash duty to get the piles put of my garage).
So, I feel a little hostile when my husband sleeps non-stop. And when he isn’t working or sleeping, he isn’t helping around the house. I actually don’t know what he’s doing. But it isn’t helping.
We have had many, many fights about this. He doesn’t understand why I’m angry. “why shouldn’t I sleep 12 hours a day? I obviously need it!”
Of course, I’ve been pregnant or breastfeeeding for 5 years this week. No mention of if I am tired.
The thing is: I don’t want him to be sleep deprived and miserable so I cam be happy. And I don’t want me to be sleep deprived, overworked, and miserable for him to be happy. I want us both to be a little miserable together, as a team.
But addicts don’t play team sports. Addiction is too selfish for that.
This morning, I was sick, and I begged my husband to take the kids just for an hour so I could sleep a little more. “actually,” he said, “I was about to go to sleep. (It was 7 am and he’d been awake since midnight .)
“Please,” I begged, “just an hour.”
Thirty minutes later, the baby was shrieking hysterically. I went into the living room to find him asleep (passed out?) on the couch, wailing baby in arms, about to drop her.
I felt like such an idiot! Why did I ask him for help? Why? I endangered my baby, all for what? Because I had a cold! Because I was desperate for sleep?
Of course, it ended in a big fight, a big, useless fight.
I can’t depend on him. I can’t leave, either. All I can think to do is pretend he’s not here and carry on like a single mom. He won’t bother us; he’ll be asleep. What other choices do I have?
