He Said – The Hamster And The Fish

You know, when you take a hamster out of its cage, and you try hold onto it without hurting it, and it immediately tries to crawl out of your hand, and you catch it with your other hand, and it crawls out of that hand, and on and on. You’re its wheel. Or, when you catch a small fish, one you know you have to let go, and you gingerly, yet firmly, remove it from the hook, and you try to hold it with enough grip to be able to place it back in the water properly, but gently enough not to hurt it. Well, that hamster and that fish are how I see my emotions lately. Sometimes I let go. I drop the hamster, and it scurries for a place to hide. I drop the fish, and it flops around on the dock trying to get back to water.

Last night, I came home from my three-hour alcohol abuse treatment session (actually, I’ve been labeled and alcohol dependent, no argument here), and I hear her from inside the house, “Hi, honey!” sounding genuinely happy to see me. I’m amazed that she’s still happy to see me sometimes. We had a nice conversation. I talked to her about a revelation I had about certain aspects of my behavior as a child, and how it translated into adulthood. She responded that that realization seemed like a positive step in my recovery. I agreed.

A little later, she revealed to me that she had not done something that I asked her to do as a favor, something that was my responsibility, but I asked her to do it because I didn’t think I’d be able to get to it. My immediate reaction was anger. I placed blame on her for not doing something that I was responsible for, knowing that she didn’t intentionally neglect to do it, she had every intention to do me the favor, and just couldn’t get to it, and she apologized. I was still angry. I let go.

Then:

I can’t share a bed with you.
OK. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.
No. Come back. (I wanted to, but didn’t. I let go)

A little later:

You have to take responsibility for yourself.
I know. I will. (I don’t think she believed me. Fair enough.)
I don’t want you in our bed, and I don’t want you to have to sleep on the couch.
What do you want? (I looked away. She walked away. Fair enough.)

Later:

You can come to bed. I’m taking a sleeping pill.
OK.

The next morning, I couldn’t talk to her. I’m afraid I’ll let go, again, and things will get worse. I barely said anything to her and left for work. Is this any better that risking my letting go again? No. And I know better that that. But I couldn’t talk to her. She’s one of the few people I’m supposed to be able to talk to, and I couldn’t do it. I usually try to end these posts on a positive not, but I can’t do that either. Maybe later, I have a hamster to catch, and a fish to put back in the water.