The Last Straw

It's 9:30 AM and you'd think I just finished a double espresso with a Red Bull chaser. My leg is bouncing, my stomach is jittery, and I can hardly sit still to type this. But I don't drink coffee and it's too early for the only way I drink Red Bull (with vodka). I'm hyped up on pure adrenaline.

I just hit send on an email to a man I used to consider a best friend and who used to be my boss. I drafted the letter with input from a group of friends to address our boundaries in helping him and his wife deal with her alcoholism. For me, the letter was much more empowering than that. I didn't get the chance to write a formal letter of resignation when I left my job, so I was able to channel many of those emotions and frustrations into this situation and monologue.

Friday was the last straw on a large load that has been weighing this camel down. After spending all day Friday caring for his wife, cleaning blood stains out of the carpet, and keeping his son and dog out of harm's way, I hosted a meeting on Friday evening with close friends to plan an intervention for them both to get them the help they need. I then drove to his house to talk with him face-to-face about the reality I had walked in on that morning -- dog locked outside with gate open; kitchen cupboards open, exposing cleaning products; one-year-old boy playing in the dog food and water (and hopefully not the cleaning products); wife on the floor, nose bleeding from a fall she had taken. Even now, remembering that scene instills a fear I have felt few times in the past. Instincts kick in and your body switches into survival mode.

He told me I was selfish for being there. He was angry that I had woken the baby up. He then proceeded to multi-task while I was explaining everything to him -- trying to make him see the dire need for full-time, professional help.  My anger was erupting. I left his house near midnight on Friday and spent the next two days exhausted.

On this Monday morning, having finally been able to say the things that needed said in a format where they don't dissolve into thin air, I now await his response with fear. I am afraid that he'll continue to belittle me, or worse -- that he'll want to get together to talk about it. I fear that he believes I have done something wrong. I mostly fear that I will continue to feel like this for even longer than the year it has been since he first showed me his true colors. I do not regret putting my thoughts and feelings onto paper and sending them to him. That fear turned to empowerment, and this new fear will as well. But only after it burns a few calories in the meantime.