Dr Marry (reluctantly) read his first blog post.
Side note: Dr Marry was a more enthusiastic outloud reader until sometime in the winter of 2002 or 2003, he was tasked with reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets to Quinn and me. It was a Quidditch match chapter, and I asked him if he didn’t think he could put a little more enthusiasm into the reading–it was a SUPER exciting game, after all. That ended his exploits as a reader. I have since apologized (many times), but it hasn’t made one jot of difference, so I really appreciate that Patrick Kirby and I got him to do these posts for us all.
So interesting to hear the first days of this journey from Dr Marry’s perspective. I appreciate that he has a much more cut and dried, unemotional take on it all. It highlights the vast difference between the addict and the person/people who are watching it all unfold from the outside.
These two posts very much typify how the relationship leading up to this nosebleed felt, at least from my perspective. I was floundering, drowning in emotion much of the time. Frantically, desperately, furiously trying to find a way to break through to the core of him, to lift him out of this fog he was lost in. He was, from my perspective, seemingly impassively drinking away his days and his life…and our lives together. The more lethargic he got, the more determined I became to shake him awake.
Except for the times when I just didn’t care. Even I, with all my dogged determination to “save” him from whatever this was, had moments, days, periods where I simply thought, “Go ahead and rot.” January 31, 2017, was one of those days.
Today, I don’t have a single moment where I am not endlessly fascinated by this brave, brilliant, kind, engaged man. And I know just how lucky I am and we are to be back to that place. And I know how damn hard he, and I, had to work to get there again.