Enough is Enough - an extract

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An extract from a larger piece of writing about the misery I have been through as a result of alcoholism

Submitted: January 04, 2012

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Submitted: January 04, 2012



Enough is Enough – an extract

Each day passes and nothing changes.  Promises come and go. My feelings have started to change as I find myself slipping into a state of numbness and indifference.  Love, trust and hope have become hate, distrust and despair.  Though they are often simmering just below the surface, the strength needed for them to surface is no longer there.  So they lay dormant – destroying my very being and existence.  I do what I have to do but I wonder as each day passes – what am I living for?  What is the point of all this?  How much longer can I carry on like this? 

 Only a few days to go before our wedding anniversary – 21 years had passed – each one more painful than the last.  We did have some good times, some really good times.  There were times when we had laughed together, had loved each other, would have given our lives for each other and couldn’t bear to be apart from each other.  But the bad outweighed the good – there were too many painful memories that they seemed to wipe out or make difficult to remember the good days.  The one good thing that had come out of this marriage were my children – my three boys who had grown into wonderful, caring and unselfish people – who would always come first in my life if I ever had to make a choice between them and their dad. 

 I went to work as usual today but not feeling too good. As I walked out of the door I said to my husband – as I did everyday – “please don’t drink today and try to find a job”.  “Don’t worry – I’m not going to drink, I haven’t got any money on me and I have an appointment with the agency for some work” was the reply.  “Sure” I thought – I believe that like I believe I’m going to win the lottery today – without buying a ticket!!

 I lasted at work till about lunchtime and by then my cold had got the better of me.  I went home so that I could get a bit of rest.  Before I’m able to do that I must look that ‘rest’ word up in the dictionary so that I know what to do and how to do it!  As I opened the front door I had the same feeling that I got every time I came home.  It was a mixed feeling of fear, dread, anxiety and uneasiness.  It was quiet and the only sound was that of the television – some Bollywood song playing on ZeeTV.  As I walked into the living room I so much wanted to see him sitting there looking in the paper for a job, having a cup of tea and something to eat or sorting through the mail and the bills – just doing something normal that normal people do.  It was such a simple and undemanding wish but it never came true.  I walked in slowly and there he sat slumped on the sofa. 

 There was nothing normal about him.  He looked up and could barely open his eyes.  His glazed eyes seemed to register surprise at seeing me.  After all, I should have been out of the house until at least 4pm – plenty of time to get drunk and sober up again.  Not knowing how to deal with it he tried to sit up but failed as he resumed his normal position.  I could feel myself starting to lose it.  I dropped my bag to the floor and turned off the fire.  The bloody cheek of it.  Me at work feeling lousy – him sitting at home in front of the fire with the television on and feeding his habit with my hard-earned money.  The mystery was where did he get the money from?  No attempt to find work, no shame and no regrets about what he was doing.  What a total loser.  Maybe today was the day.

 “What do you think you’re doing?”  I screamed.  No response – just that glazed stare. “Where did you get the money from?  How dare you lie to me every morning.”  I shook him to make him listen to me and slapped him across the face.  I found it hard to control my temper and kept on shaking him.  It was like talking to a corpse.  I sat down as tears welled up in my eyes.  Why was I so upset?  It was nothing new.  I looked at him again and felt the hatred build up inside me.  Without thinking I shouted some obscenities at him – I just hated swearing, hated those words that came out of my mouth.  But they seemed to wake him up.  He pulled himself up from the sofa and shouted “you bloody bitch – I’ll show you”.Promises, promises – he would never leave.  Because that’s what I thought he was going to do, just put on his shoes and jacket and walk out.  Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

 He walked into the kitchen towards the gas stove.  There was a chip pan left there from the previous night.  He picked it up and poured the oil over himself – it ended up on the worktops and on the floor and on his clothes.  I was still in the living room but sensing something wrong I stood up and walked into the kitchen just as he had picked up a box of matches.  Not being in total control of his senses he found it difficult to light one. I walked over to grab them but slipped on the oil.  He was screaming – no words just screaming.  I pulled onto his arm to try and get up but the oil kept bringing me down again.  By this time I was scared and started shouting at him to stop.  He took no notice and kicked me to one side.  “I’ll show you, I’ll show you” – that’s all he could say or rather scream.  The next thing I knew he had gone completely nuts.  His hands seemed to have a life of their own as they swept across the kitchen units and smashed everything to the floor.  Nothing was spared.  The food made for my kids and left over from last night strewn across the floor.  Cups, plates, toaster, kettle and all other items smashed mercilessly.  Then I became the target and his blows rained down on my back as I put my hands over my head to protect myself.  And all the time the screaming continued.  It was a nightmare – I must wake up soon. 

 I knew my seventeen year old son was upstairs and I shouted out his name.  He had already heard the commotion but was afraid to come downstairs.  For him it was an everyday thing.  All he ever heard was the sound of his parents shouting at each other.  So he’d put the pillows over his head to drown out the noise and let us get on with it.  Hearing me scream out his name made him get up and run down the stairs unprepared for the sight that met his eyes.  I felt so sorry for him – why did he have to see all this?  I pleaded with him to call the police – scared for his safety and mine.  I could see the anger building up on his face and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold him back if he turned violent too.  How could I control the two of them?  Sure enough he lashed out.  He went for his Dad as if he could kill him.  He also slipped on the oil and crashed to the floor on his back.  As he fell the broken glass cut his bare feet.I helped him up and begged him to call the police.  He did.  They came and took him away – handcuffs and all.  Today is that day – now I know that enough is enough.  I would not allow my family to be in danger.My children would be my first priority for as long as I live – I cannot fail them.

 I couldn’t wait for you to board that plane – couldn’t wait for it to take off. Right until the bitter end you gave me stress and the minute I heard that you were on the plane the stress seemed to float away and I felt a sudden wave of relief wash over me – so overwhelming it was that I had to steady my balance as I walked away from the airport – walked away from MISERY.  A weight had been lifted and I felt light and giddy and would have run around kissing and hugging every person in sight. Now I must put the past behind me – forget the bad and look forward to the good.Break my ties with the old.  A new start – the first day of the rest of my life begins here and now.





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