Bed.
Jun 16, 09- (by JunkysWife)
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- Family and Friends, Sober Salon
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My husband has taken to his bed for the last several days. He is down-dosing from his methadone a milligram every other day, and it’s been tearing his mood to shreds. He wakes up in the morning, and we go to the clinic together. He comes home and watches a little television. I usually fall asleep with my head in his lap. I get up a little later, get dressed for work, and he goes outside and works in the yard. I come home between classes to be with him, and we usually hang out until it’s time for my next class. By the time I get home, which is usually around 2:00, he’s gone to bed, and usually, he’s gone for the day.
I want to fix him, damn it. I want him to have a reason to get up. I want there to be something I can do to make him smile. All I can do is cook for him and talk to him, and it’s driving me crazy.
I know I’m powerless, damn it again. I know that trying to help him or fix him is only going to make my life unmanageable. I still wish and wish and wish that there were something I could do to fix him from the inside out. I want to reach inside his chest and massage his heart. I want to climb inside his mind and whisper all the wonderful things there are about him and about his life.
There’s so much in the future for him, and there’s so much good in him. He can’t see it, or he won’t. I am afraid for him, afraid that he’ll never get to the other side of it all. It’s like he’s drowning, and I’m hanging on. I don’t know which force is stronger.
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