Profile of an alcoholic: a brief memoir

I am twine, strong. I am twine, frayed at both ends.

Nicole was born in 1997. I was eighteen. In 2000, I married her dad. Our honeymoon remains one of the greatest memories kept in the catacombs of my heart. We went to Niagara Falls; we weren’t old hat, just monetarily challenged. Anyway, the Falls are fucking stunning–a true marvel of nature. To those who haven’t been, I suggest you visit.

To be legally bound to Mr. Kindra was mostly stressful; he was an authoritarian type, and I was passive-aggressive. As a wife, I feared his disappointment, his frustration and anger. As a friend, he was the best one to me. But our friendship couldn’t save our marriage. He drank a lot. After work, he’d go to the bar with his friends, miss dinner, and stumble in late totally shit-faced. And holy balls, I can’t recall how many vehicles he’d crashed on his way home from only fuck knows where.

I’m ashamed to admit that my issue with his drinking and driving was no big thang to me whenever we stepped out together for our date nights. We would go out to dinner and get fucking blotto; hit the bars; road drink; stop at his buddy’s and throw back the beer. What-the-fuck-ever, we were having fun–not arguing. Mostly not arguing. On one occasion, he did pull over on the side of a country road at stupid o’clock in the morning, and told me to get the fuck out and walk. I refused, even after he leaned over me and undid my seat belt. He screamed at me the whole way home. To be fair, I’m a terrible flirt when I’m drunk. I’m sure you can put the puzzle pieces together.

The last couple years of our marriage were Lifetime network dramatic. I was going out every weekend with my friends, drinking and dancing. And weeknights, I would fill a bucket with ice to keep my twelve pack cold, lock myself in the spare room, and write. He didn’t like me smoking, so I would open the window and hang my head outside to indulge in my secret ciggies. But drinking and smoking and brooding wasn’t even the worst of it. I had gotten up to such shit–infidelity–I cry over it to this day. I was unraveling, and a part of me wanted to see the end of me through to the end.

But Nicole…the true essence of my life. My heart still aches when I revisit the day I told my girl I was leaving her dad.

“Am I coming with you?”

“Look at me. I would never leave you, baby.”

And I didn’t. Wouldn’t. Ever.







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