Responsibility

"I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do." --Robert Heinlein

Right. So.

As last night's post made clear, I have been laying more than a little blame for my drinking problem at A's feet. Unfair, unfair.

I'm not saying that A hasn't influenced me enormously. He has, in part because my boundaries are so poor that to be able to call them permeable would actually reflect considerable progress.

Put bluntly, dating and then living with a heavy drinker gave me, in my mind, free license to increase my own use.

But see? There's the catch. It's in my mind that this has been true. It's not true in fact. The truth, though it's painful to me to admit it, is simple: A's use is his responsibility. My use is mine.

A may or may not have a drinking problem--I believe he does--but in a sense that too is immaterial. Just as my use is my responsibility, my (only) responsibility is my use. No excuses, no finger pointing, no attempts to blame him rather than myself.

Another ugly truth is that when I met A, I was already wrestling internally with this demon. I've used alcohol in response to stress and anxiety almost daily for a number of years. I've had cravings, at times, for years as well. There were critical differences between that period and now in terms of quantity and negative consequences, but I wasn't functioning healthily in relation to alcohol. My drinking was an addiction in waiting.

Third, even uglier truth: I'm starting to believe that the latent addict within me jumped at the chance to be with someone who would not only let her out but welcome her companionship. This is not to minimize or to set aside the many nonalcoholic ways in which A and I are well suited for each other. It's just to acknowledge that I fell in love with overdrinking as I fell in love with him. I can picture loving him, very much, without overdrinking. But at the moment I can't entirely picture not overdrinking while loving him.

This is why the things I'm trying to do now, the changes I'm dancing around making, are scarier than simply addressing my probable addiction--which, if it needs saying, is plenty fucking scary already. This is why, even though I've told him my worries about drinking and we've agreed that I need to cut back, I haven't told him yet about the therapy appointment and I haven't told him about this blog. It's also why (in part) I haven't told him that I have concerns about his use.

I feel as though I have to take one tiny step at a time, focusing on my own life and my own health, looking intentionally and purposefully away from the bigger picture. Otherwise I'll never take any steps at all.