Struggling with Balance

by Matt
Tonight. The leaking sink is a metronome. Tap tap tap. Tap the truth. Interrogation. This is my landscape. Notice a colorful happiness, full of comforts and creation. The wall in our current house that we’ve struggled and worked with to achieve harmony. Balance. Notice the balance. A box of wine on the right, a shot glass and whiskey on the left. This, all things willing, will be the last time this picture exists. I plan to be a stubborn fool tonight and indulge in the source of so much pain and regret in my past 25 years. I’m breaking up with my mistress. Alcohol, booze, problem water. A well of weakness and self hate. I have a dip in my lip. Nightshade. Dark.

I was sober for about five years before I met Julie. On one of our earliest dates, a wonderful time at Mellow Mushroom, I slipped just to taste how beer had evolved. Craft beer. Delicious. Perfect pair with pizza. I told Julie this may be a problem. Over the next five years, the taste again became a thirst. And a habit. I nearly set our house on fire once after coming home tired and loopy from a third shift job, and decided to boil a new hat in salt water to make it look authentic. Stupidity in full bloom. Addiction is painful and destructive. My liver is worn, my body has been battered, and I regret that regress. I refuse to deny my weakness. I want to expose it to the light of truth and hope. Optimism. The taste no longer is savored. I hate the taste, but tonight I push through. Swallow twice before the shot. It makes me sick each time. But I will clear this house of what haunts me. I will no longer hunt that hate.

Our marriage suffered. There was a lack of harmony. A lack of trust. The concern of Julie has been riddled with regret. But what we’ve been through over the last 15 months of counseling has splintered my hate like an axe to kindling. I have cried alone at night more than anyone should have to. My faults no longer define me. I’ve learned to accept them. I have two amazing, beautiful girls. One wild and defiant, and one pure and full of compassion. They are my light. My whole family matters more tonight than ever before. We’ve had such a time. Julie left me one weekend after a bad night of drinking. She drove through snow with our oldest for four hours at night to find comfort with her parents. Transition is hard. I quit my job to raise them, and we moved to my wife’s hometown. Her parents are kind, and at the time, I was not an anchor.

The move did not help to change my behavior. I was not always patient with those beautiful girls. At times, they saw a sad mean man. Not a father. I regret it.

But we continued. I love Julie for her insistence. Her faith and optimism never lapsed. Counseling exposed all of my faults.

There is no perfection, and as a result of that reality, we as a society accept that “the best you can” is the path. That is such a slippery slope. It allows us to manipulate reality when we aren’t our best. We can just lower the bar, and then seek credit for the jump over it.

I’ve learned so much about myself lately. I drink less, but less doesn’t work. I have to stop. Say goodbye to this affair. I no longer feel the love for alcohol.

What I love is this dynamic. This happy place that open communication has provided my family. I will exercise. I will garden. I will search for mushrooms on long meditative walks in the woods. I will let go of anger. It solves nothing. The only thing that I can control is my reaction to life. That’s the one choice that we get. I will choose to react with optimism, rationality and practicality. I will appreciate all the hurt and pain of before, but I will not linger. I will move forward happy. My father died at 68, sad and bitter and alone. I will not.

So now, I will finish that bottle of whiskey, dump that box of wine in the trash, and be happy. Smile more. Laugh. Look for others that need help. I want to do my best to be a kind ear. Listen to those with stories like mine, offer them a shoulder to cry on, another shoulder to punch on, and then I will provide open arms, sore and battered, but full of love. I will hug the broken. Hold them steady. Help them notice the balance.