The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

So Pythagorus fell off the wagon yet again. Hard.

I don't feel guilty writing that here, by the way. No, I think in the great scheme of things, I took the highest of the high roads this evening. And it's not like it's the first time this has happened (okay, I feel a little bit bad for writing that here).

So basically, he wanted to see Belle for dinner. He knows I don't get out of work until three and started texting at about 3:30 wanting to know where I was since he'd been waiting for two hours. That pretty much gave me an indication, and talking to him on the phone made it even more clear. Once I saw him, there wasn't a doubt in my mind, but I already had Belle so I decided to just try to get through dinner, get Belle home, then bring him back (an hour and a half drive, by the way) to his parents' house.

He picked a fight with me all during dinner, kept making cracks at how I always accused him of drinking when he wasn't, swore up and down he hadn't been drinking, staggered across a parking lot holding Belle (and I could kill him for that, I swear to God), and thought that chewing on cough drops and a wad of gum bigger than Pamela Anderson's boob would overpower the stench of wine. However, he passed out in the car when I was bringing Belle home, so I figured at least it would be safe to bring him home.

I was quite wrong there. I'm not getting into it, but suffice it to say that my arm hurts and has a bruise on it, that I was tormented emotionally (which hurt even worse), and that he further proved that he is the most insensitive human being on the planet. When somebody knows some of your dirty and horrendous secrets, what does it say about him that he brings them up and basically rubs your nose in the worst thing that's ever happened to you?

And you know what I did? Nothing. I didn't take him to the hospital to be admitted or to the police station to be arrested, although either would have documented his blood alcohol level when he was having visitation with Belle and would certainly have solidified my position that he not be allowed unsupervised visits with her. Nope, I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I let him take it out on me instead. I am such an idiot.

Divorce is a foregone conclusion now. However, I can't help but notice that the behavior he is exhibiting now is EXACTLY what he was doing last year when this whole alcoholism thing reared its ugly head. He blamed his job, he blamed me, he blamed a lot of things for his problem, but the truth is, he makes his own issues. He has had more fresh starts and second chances than you can imagine, and he's pissed Sutter Home chardonnay all over them.

So why has it taken me this long to figure that out? Why do I always end up feeling sorry for him? I realize that alcoholism is a disease, but this is beyond what I've ever seen. This was the last time I expect to see him--someone else can supervise his visitations with Belle, and sad as it is to say, I'm not sure how much longer he'll be around for. His liver must look like swiss cheese by now :( Anyway, I think he's finally driven the point home for good: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I'm a slow learner, but I'm not a complete idiot. I've got it, Pythagorus. I've got it.

And now I've got my life back, too.