My ex's obsession with drinking

My ex's obsession with drinking 

When my ex and I got engaged, I was 25 and had started to distance myself from the partying lifestyle. I was a very tame party girl- I never did drugs or went to raves or anything wild like that- I would just get drinks, go dance, and have fun with my girlfriends. About six months before my engagement, I had stopped drinking all together. I was focused on my health and enjoying the benefits of sober living.

However, my ex put a brick on his partying gas pedal. He ramped up his binge drinking on weekends, as well as his use of marijuana, Vyvanse, and Xanax. It felt like the less I wanted to go out, the more extreme he became.

Most of the time, I was fine to go along with his antics; I knew who I was marrying. I would go out with him and his friends for awhile, call myself an Uber around 1:00 am, and he would eventually turn up at home around 4:00. I would typically wake up in a puddle of his piss, and a partner I couldn't rely on for help the rest of the day. 

At first he didn't mind that I wasn't drinking. He was happy to have me as arm candy at the bar, sober or not. But then one day, as if flipping a switch, he decided it was unacceptable for me to not drink with him. He would push and push and pester me to drink more, stay out longer, and stop being such a drag. 

See the problem is- I wasn't the best drunk. I'd often say something uncouth, or crack my phone screen, or spend too much money. But when John was wasted, he was a big, slobbery monster. He would "rip shots" with his bros, then leave me at a bar completely alone, wander off with people, and ignore his phone. I would find him in dark corners of bars, talking too intimately with others girls. He would smoke outside with friends, leaving me to talk with people I didn't care about or have interest in. He would drink until his eyes were glazed over, his motor skills barely functioning, slurring and drooling when he spoke. After searching through sweaty crowds and blaring music and haze I would finally confront him, "Hey, I've been looking everywhere for you. You left me AGAIN! I couldn't find you... Who was that girl you were talking to? Where is your phone? Your wallet? Your keys? Can we please call a ride and go home...?" and this would divulge into a drunken mess of a fight. 

I always hated the moral hangovers more than the physical ones. If I had just been easier going, we wouldn't have fought; it was my fault for not being enough of a "cool girl". I had ruined the night. 

So all this, and the fact that I had new interests and goals, lead to my drinking hiatus.  Little interests like: I wanted to plant a garden in our backyard. I asked him to go to Lowes with me, but he just wanted to day drink. I wanted to watch movies, stay in, and cook. He wanted to buy bottle service and coke. And for whatever reason, he decided that he wanted me to be there with him. And if I didn't want to go? Fine, he'd show me the consequences. He would come home later, drunker, higher, than ever before. If I didn't go, he'd make me pay. 

At this point in our engagement, I was getting scared. I felt like I wanted to better myself, and he wanted to destroy us both.

If you've read this blog, and know farther down the timeline how my drinking comes back into full swing, it will make you really sad for this 25 year old girl, who was trying to do right. 

Fast forward:

I was sick as a dog on our honeymoon. I had one of the most painful coughs, chest aches, and sinus infections I'd ever had. Bad timing, but that's life. I was taking over the counter medicine to keep my symptoms at bay, and I just didn't feel well enough to excessively drink. It drove my brand new husband insane. He was getting wasted all day on the beach, then would ramp it up at night. Looking back, I don't know how his body could handle the amount of alcohol he constantly put in it. I could sense his irritation with me, his lack of empathy for how sick I was feeling, and how bored he already was with me- his new wife. So the last day of our trip, I drank. I remember it in such a clearly unclear way. He was making drinks for me, one stronger than the next, never letting my cup go empty, because I was FINALLY being "fun". The sheer amount of alcohol he was funneling into me, mixed with my medicine and exhaustion, was a terrible combination. 

He says I drunkenly decided to go to the beach, and I stumbled out of the room. He says I fell down the stone steps, scraping up both of my knees. He says he had to carry me back to our room, where I passed out for the rest of the day. He says I ruined our honeymoon. 

The next day on our flight home, he looked at me and said, "I'm driving to my parents house tonight to get the dog. I think I'll stay there all weekend."

We had been married for ten days and he was already wanting out. He wanted a drinking buddy, not a wife. He wanted a party partner, not a spouse. He was interested in how I could make his life more fun, and when I failed to do that, I was worthless to him.