WHAT'S HAPPENED TO US?

A Heroin Addict's Wife Speaks Of Pain And Patience

I've known Tom for over nine years now. I've been in a 12-step program
for 11 years and was two years sober when I met Tom. He was drinking
some when we met, and I told him I couldn't be with him if he was drinking.

I'm a bartender by profession, and don't have a problem with it at
work, but at home it would be another matter. He quit right after we
moved in together and was sober when we were married.

We were attracted to each other, I think, because we were raised
similarly. Our parents had the same moral beliefs. By my own
admission, I grew up kind of sheltered, but Tom's past seemed a bit
more wild, but not really, to my mind, excessive.

I got pregnant right after the honeymoon. I've been married previously
and have a daughter from that marriage. My first husband was an alcoholic.

Tom was really enthusiastic about the baby and had really wanted a
child. I think he started to feel totally overwhelmed, though, when
our son was around six months old. It's really vague when he started
using heroin, but I think he was dabbling in it around then. I felt
something was wrong.

I keep a journal sporadically, so I can remember what I was feeling at
the time. In the journal, I wrote, "I know there's something powerful
taking him away from us."

At the time, I thought it was maybe chronic depression or maybe even
an affair. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine it was heroin. I
mean, heroin use isn't obvious like alcoholism, being drunk and so
forth.

He later told me that one of the attractions of heroin was that he
could do this and no one would know.

About nine months later, we started looking to buy a house. I
attributed a lot of his behavior to the stress over buying a house,
because he seemed agitated a lot of the time.

Shortly after buying the house, I remember it like it was yesterday,
we were standing at my daughter's softball game. Tom said, "I have to
talk to you. I have a problem. I'm addicted to heroin."

It was surreal, like a movie. I left and went to the meeting and
called some friends when I got home, some friends who'd been in
recovery from heroin addiction.

We made some calls to get Tom into treatment and his sister took him
to the center. He only stayed six days and showed up back at home at
the door.

I said, "You can't stay, you have to go." He said if he came home,
everything would be all right. I told him, "No, you can't." We were
arguing and I started yelling at him in front of our son.

I said, "Look at what's happening to us. I'm becoming the bad person
here!" So he left and called his brother who took him back to the
treatment center, but he couldn't stay long because of insurance.

The absolute insidiousness of the disease is you seem to get a
reprieve for a few months when it seems everything is like it used to
be, but Tom was having slips all along, using heroin, but I didn't
realize it at the time.

I don't know what it is about heroin. I mean, I obviously understand
alcoholism because I'm a recovering alcoholic, but the pull of heroin
seems so much greater. I can't begin to tell you how awful it is. My
agony in this was very personal.

There's a tremendous amount of shame involved. I had to tell my family
about Tom's addiction. He'd overdrawn our account by $1,200 and my
brother had to bail us out. It was humiliating.

I was so stunned that this was happening, completely flabbergasted,
even to this day. I mean, you want to believe that the person you
married is still there. But I'm a lot more aware now of the
manipulation that goes along with this addiction.

Tom's behavior was affecting my own recovery. I mean, I didn't want to
go out drinking again, but it was affecting the quality of my sobriety.

There were times I'd go through his wallet. I'd listen at the bathroom
door when he was in there. To this day, I keep my bankbooks with me
all the time. I can't tell you how many times my bank account was
cleaned out and how many times I've sat there with bank officials
trying to straighten it out. It's a humiliating experience. My
self-esteem was extremely low.

He pawned most of my jewelry, including some heirlooms from my aunt.
Can you imagine where this addiction takes you?

We finally got to the point where I asked him to move out last summer.
Tom never became physically abusive to the children or me but last
fall, he looked horrible and desperate. He was scared he was losing
his family.

I told him I wanted a divorce, that I couldn't take it anymore. If
you ever met Tom, though, you'd like him. He's one of the gentlest
people I've ever known. He's a terrific father.

I use the old 12-step analogy of a person who's standing on the edge
of a cliff. You know, they're digging their feet in trying not to fall
off, but the more they dig in, the more dirt they kick loose and the
closer they get to the edge and falling off. That was Tom at that time.

My daughter was becoming afraid at this time. Until then, she'd had a
wonderful relationship with Tom. It got so bad I sent her away to stay
with her father for a few months.

My son saw Tom stealing our car from the garage and to this day he
remembers it. It's very hard to explain it to him. I was even becoming
afraid at this point that he would take our son. Tom was becoming
very distraught and desperate.

I told our son, "Daddy has a disease in his head. He's not the Dad we
know and love right now."

Tom showed up again. He didn't look much like the person I love. I
wanted to help; I wanted to believe, but just couldn't. I was
responsible for the bills, the kids, taking care of the house, everything.

His family is more involved with him right now than I am really. I've
distanced myself emotionally for my family's protection.

He's amicable now and says he's not using and pays his child support.
I'm holding out hope. I really am. But he has a long road to travel.
He still has to realize what sobriety really entails. I just want to
shake him and say, "Look! It's either this or this!" But my focal
point right now is my children.

I've come to realize that heroin addiction isn't like alcoholism.
Lots of recovering alcoholics never seem to be able to quit smoking.
They keep quitting and going back to it. Heroin seems just as insidious.

You think things when you're in a situation like this that normal
people would think are crazy, but it's really normal for the
situation. I remember driving to work one day, thinking, I haven't
heard from Tom for a few days. He could be dead.

You really start to think like this. In my head, I actually started
thinking about what I needed to do, funeral arrangements, who to call
and so on. Crazy to most people, but that's where the addiction will
take people.

My own addiction, alcoholism, is just a slice of the pie now. I take
care of it, but my life is fuller than that. I try to keep it in
perspective. One of the biggest gifts at this point is the strength
I've gotten from people and how they were there for me. I'm even in
school right now to become a paralegal.

Right now, we get along. He comes over and even baby-sits our son.
People, looking in from the outside may think our relationship is odd,
especially after all we've been through, but my life in this area has
finally become relatively stress free. A lot of the tension is gone.
Truly.

Tom's presence in our lives is a benefit, but it's on my terms now. It
might sound selfish, but it's survival. I was losing myself in his
addiction, I was losing the things that make me who I am and what I
want to be.

It's important for people to keep in mind that this addiction is a
disease, but a disease of the mind. It's not unlike cancer. It's led
to a lot of horrific things in our lives.

But the biggest gift I've gotten through all this is acceptance. In
the grand scheme of things, I'm fine. I have a great family and
wonderful friends who haven't passed judgment. That's very important.

In an addiction like this, it's hard to keep compassion and put
yourself in the other person's shoes. I mean, where are we if we lose
our compassion for the other person.