I don’t even know exactly when my husband moved out. Six weeks ago, or maybe longer. The time since he’s been back from Ohio has been broken up by frequent binges, hotel stays, and finally, moving in with his brother. The countless chances I gave him were all wasted, answered with empty promises and lies.

I still love the man I married. The problem is, I don’t know where he went. What changed him into someone I don’t know? A love affair with cocaine.

Now it seems that he has been clean over the usual week or so. And his brain is waking up. Weeks ago we discussed the end of our marriage. Last night he called me wanting to come home. He is realizing with cruel clarity that our home is no longer his home. People who have never been in my shoes might criticize me, saying that I should stick it out, stand by my man, be more understanding, be kinder to him, and most of all, be quiet.

But I want to be happy.

The very thought of him coming home puts a bigger knot in my stomach than the thought of going broke, being alone, or losing what little I have left. The other night when I told him I found someone else, I didn’t do it to hurt him. I wanted to get the point across — that I have moved on. That I am not going back, and he isn’t going to change my mind. The man I married would know how to make things right. This guy doesn’t really have any idea.

This makes me wonder about two things: my husband’s recovery from his addiction, and my recovery from his addiction. Because his drug of choice didn’t just fry his brain and drain our bank account, it slowly killed my love for him, along with my feelings of security, contentment and trust. Now that I am on my own, I cannot seem to erase doubts and suspicions about things that I once took for granted. I still don’t actually trust him, although I see small signs that he is trying to accept what he has done. I am angry that all the love and attention I put into our marriage just seemed to evaporate into thin air.

My new relationship may work out and it may not. But I feel I have already set myself up for heartbreak… being so damned lonely and not guarding my heart carefully enough. Rational thought tells me to go slow, but my emotions are raw and intense, so I am walking a thin line. I was starving for affection, and didn’t realize it until I found it. But I tell myself I can’t let myself fall in love. I can’t trust another person. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I tell myself that I don’t care. But I do, I can’t lie. I’d rather take a chance on getting hurt than feel nothing at all. After all the pain I have been through, it feels good think someone might find something special about me. That I can make someone happy. That I still have the capacity to feel giddy and overwhelmed. That maybe, somehow, I might find some joy in my life. 

I can only hope the same for the man I married.