so wrenching

I have a pit in my stomach from talking to CB just now. She is so drunk. I called because I’d heard from little T that she wasn’t going to be home tonight and I wanted to go over there and pick up a few things. I also wanted to drop off the birthday present I got her (a black Carhartt jacket which she would love if I could safely get it to her). She did the thing where she picks up the phone but doesn’t say anything. She just waits. So I just waited too, for a long time, extremely disappointed that she’d picked up the phone at all. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I spoke. She was so drunk she could hardly talk. Then she had the audacity to tell me she hadn’t had a drink in two days. Give me a fucking break. It would be comical if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

After a ridiculous and heartbreaking conversation (during which, among other things, she told me she hadn’t read the last two notes I left. “I woodstoved them,” is what she said. Look out William Saffire, “woodstove” is now a verb.) I hung up on her. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Now I feel hollow inside and so, so sad. Where inside of all that alcohol and dysfunction is the woman who was my wife? I have no idea.

What do I expect? I walked out on an alcoholic. How did I think she would handle it? By checking herself into rehab? By starting to meditate and do Chi Gung again? By returning to her gym routine, working out every day and eating healthy? No. Of course not. But the thing that is most sad, the thing I must remember: she would be drinking anyway, even if I’d stayed. The only difference would be her reasons.