This, by the way, is the point at which blogging experts say you shouldn't blog. You should always put your best stuff out there and dazzle the Internet multitudes. But I say... Um... Ah, whatever. I don't have it in me to come up with a dazzling response to that either. So, here, my friends, are your bullet points:

• I was working on a guest post for a blog on disability and spirituality that I think many of you will love: Amy Julia Becker's Thin Places. The post won't be up for a week or two. I'll post a link when it is, but do feel free to poke around and get to know Amy Julia in the meantime.
• I've been working on my 1st Step, in depth this time, which has consisted of writing up a history of my life and relationships. I've used a lot of blog material, and it's about (gulp) 50 pages long, which is awful and fabulous. Awful, because I need to edit it down to about 8 in order to present it to my 12 Step group and fabulous because I started this blog with the idea of writing a memoir about my marriage and I've found I have a really solid foundation for that. When I read it to my cosponsor, she and I both cried.
• I have been celebrating! My husband and I have 7 years in recovery, and since many of you know that discovery and recovery happened when I was very pregnant with my daughter, you can probably guess that we've been preparing to celebrate the anniversary of Janie's birth. We've also been celebrating a sobriety anniversary for my husband, who has 4 years since his last major slip. Yay!

My husband and I left the kids with a babysitter and went out on a date last night. Mark had a work crisis he wanted to deal with before leaving the office, so to save time, I decided to meet him there rather than waiting for him to meet me someplace else. When I do have to meet Mark at work, I tend to make sure it is after hours, when his coworkers are unlikely to be in the office. Visiting him at work always provokes anxiety in me, because he has a history of acting out in his sex addiction with coworkers, most recently by taking a female coworker out for a dinner date about a year ago.

I'm not ready to meet or interact with any of the women he works with, in spite of the fact that Mark says he has not been physically intimate with anyone there, even Candace, the woman he took out to dinner.

In my earlier days, I would have spent a huge amount of frantic energy trying to find out "the truth" about his relationship with each and every woman he came into contact with during the day. I would have tried to find evidence to conclusively prove or disprove his assertion that he did not have sex with Candace. I would have reviewed the 24/7 videos from the monitoring system and GPS tracking system I'd have had installed on his body (if such a thing existed and my codependent craziness had progressed along the path it was taking). I would have looked for some indication about whether or not I should feel hurt and whether or not I had a right to be upset.

But here's the thing I've found as I've worked on my own healing: It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he actually did or didn't do. Even with conclusive proof that nothing more has happened than what I already know about, I would still feel hurt. I still wouldn't want to meet any of his female coworkers, because regardless of whether or not I should find them triggering and upsetting, I do. My feelings are real, regardless of the circumstances, and the past still haunts me. And that's what I have to deal with by continuing to work on myself.

Image credit: Photo by Lst1984 on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

One evening four years ago, my husband headed out to attend one of his weekly Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings. What was unusual about this particular meeting was that I had begged him not to go.

Those meetings help him. They help me. They saved our marriage. And that generally makes me a big fan of his nights out 12 stepping. However, the day before this meeting, I had undergone an abortion to end my pregnancy with what would have been our third child. Exhausted and depressed by everything that had happened in the last few days, I didn't want him to leave me for several hours to care for the kids and get them off to bed.

But Mark was adamant about going. He was still fairly early in recovery and simply didn't trust himself. If he gave himself permission to skip just one meeting, he believed he would use that to let himself justify skipping other meetings for other reasons. It felt too dangerous to him, like standing at a cliff's edge where one wrong step would send him plunging back into active addiction. He called my friend Judy and asked her to stay with me and help with the kids while he went out. And off he went.

I was devastated. As much as I love Judy and was happy to have her help and company, the person I wanted with me right then was the person twined up in my sorrow, the father of the child I decided not to have: my husband. When Mark was active in his addiction, our family often came second to his sexual acting out. And now that he was in recovery, it felt like our family still came second to this new 12 step love affair of his.

"For once -- just this one time," I thought, "why can't holding my hand when I really need you there be first on the list?" I knew this was an exaggeration. I knew Mark had been there for me, and put me ahead of himself many times in our marriage. I knew that was why I was still there working. So, I tried to breathe and remember the big picture greater good of his recovery, but it still hurt like hell. And I kept holding on to those festering resentments, never fully forgiving him for doing what he felt he needed to do that night.

Two years later, Mark came home between 9 and 10 p.m. on a meeting night, just as he always did. There wasn't anything special about that night to me, and I can't call it out in my memory. It was just part of the routine. Mark goes to meetings and gets home late a few nights a week. I feed the kids dinner, put them to bed and give him a kiss when he gets home. But that night, whichever it was, was different for Mark, because he didn't go to a meeting.

A woman he works with, who works for him, had broken up (again) with her on again off again boyfriend. So Mark asked her out on a date. Knowing that I wouldn't expect him home until later that night, he took her out to dinner and then drove her back to her apartment. He shared his slip with his group shortly afterwards, but it took him a year to get himself to a place where he could share it with me. And it's taken me a year, likewise, to share anything beyond the fact that, on the day he told me, I put myself to bed to watch the rain with a pint of gourmet ice cream for comfort and didn't get up until the next day.

It's hard, at times like that, not to take sex addiction personally. It's hard not to see those actions as separate rather than inextricably connected. It's hard not to rage and say, "You couldn't skip a meeting to be with me the day after we aborted our baby, but you could skip a meeting to take another woman out on a date?!" It's hard not to feel that those actions reflect on his love for me and for our family. It's hard to see those actions as symptoms of a disease.

I could have (I have) worked through relapses on other occasions. But to relapse on a meeting night was the greatest breech of trust of all, because in my desire to bury my anger and pain and resentment, I had elevated meetings to a level of sacredness. I had made meetings a sign that he valued our family and our relationship enough to work hard on himself and his problems. Those meetings were the talisman that I thought was keeping us all safe.

But addiction doesn't respect the sacred: not meetings or family heirlooms or pets or family or friends. It will destroy anything, sell anything, steal anything, lie to and about anything and anyone to feed its hunger. Those meetings keep it at bay, one day at a time, but nothing ever keeps us completely safe. And however it feels to me, I know in my mind (if not my heart) that skipping a meeting to go on a date doesn't mean he doesn't love me, it just means he's still an addict.

It occurs to me that when people ask, "Why would anyone stay with an addict?" they're not asking about addicts in recovery. People don't really mean, "Why do you stay with your husband who goes to AA and hasn't had a drink in 15 years?" They don't mean, "Why are you with your wife, who has been clean and sober for 2 years and now works full-time for a drug treatment program?" They mean, "Why are you with the man who is currently draining your retirement fund to bet on horse races and refuses to stop?" or "Why are you with a woman who is leaving the kids locked in the bedroom every day while she snorts coke?" People may still wonder why one might stay with a partner who has (in the past) hurt them badly and who has the very real potential to hurt them again, but that is still less perplexing than watching someone stay in a relationship with someone who is actively self-destructive and shows no sign of stopping.

Because addicts are never cured, we tend to conflate the two, and I'll admit that I'm complicit in this myself. Addicts are always addicts; just like a diabetic is a diabetic whether they are carefully monitoring their glucose levels and managing their condition, or skipping meals and blacking out while they're driving. So, we often get fuzzy about the language. I admit, I tend to say "my husband is a sex addict" not "my husband is a recovering sex addict," even though there is a huge difference between the two.

I don't know that I (even as passionate as I am about writing) have words, have the ability, to describe how different it is to be in a relationship where both partners are in recovery, rather than one where one or both partners are active in their addiction or codependency. But of course, I'll try...

I don't know that I have the words because I'm describing an experience you either fully know yourself, or you don't. I want to describe what lies outside the Matrix. If you've been there you know, and if you haven't, well, "Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself." I can't fully describe the complexities and the depth and the harshness and the beauty of that reality. It's a little like becoming a parent (only you're coming in to an equal relationship): you know your life is going to change when that new person arrives, you may even think you know but you can't fully imagine in what ways and you can't really imagine the depth and complexity of that relationship until you get there yourself.

Think about yesterday's analogy: addiction as a nasty digestive disorder. An addict in recovery would be analogous to a patient who sees the doctor regularly, works hard every day and faithfully maintains a regimen that will keep the disease under control. And as time consuming, expensive and difficult as the treatment regimen for that disease might be, dealing with a chronic illness that remains largely asymptomatic can be manageable.

However, an active addict would be one who refuses to see a doctor, or even to admit that their symptoms are outside the realm of normal. This person will vomit on the bed and blame it on whatever was for dinner (and the spouse who cooked the dinner). This person will insist that it's normal for people to crap in their pants every day. This person will spend all of the money they have (or can steal) on food and activities that will make the problem worse. And this person will absolutely refuse to clean up the mess. And I'll agree. No one wants to live with that. Of course, some people still do, but we'll have to get to that later...

I'm going away this weekend and will be seeing Jay and hopefully meeting R! Yay! So, I may not post again until Monday. But I will continue musing addiction and codependency issues, and I guarantee I will have more to say when I do return. I'm loving all of the thought-provoking, insightful comments I've been receiving on this topic. Keep them coming.

Addiction is a disease, a mental illness, a neurological disorder; it causes compulsive behavior and distorts an addict's perception of reality. It is not a moral failing, a personality trait, a lack of willpower, an inherent laziness or selfishness, a careless disregard for other people. Like most diseases, this knows no boundaries of race, religion, socio-economic class, moral character or personality type.

It doesn't strike "bad" people and leave "good" people untouched; the terms "good person" and "addict" are not mutually exclusive. People can be mean, lazy, selfish, egomaniacal, narcissistic assholes and addicts. Or they can also be kind, gentle, loving, hardworking, caring people and addicts. The nature of the disease and its progression causes addicts to lose themselves, so that loving, hardworking person may slowly fade away, just like someone afflicted with other neurological disorders, like Alzheimer's. Good people may struggle hard against the disease, fight for years, but if untreated, will be whipped into servitude, becoming slaves to the compulsions, caring and working only for the addiction. It's merciless. It's painful. It's debilitating.

It often helps me to think of addiction as a physical disease. The way I think of this disease, it is like living with a digestive disorder: something messy and smelly that leads to metaphorical vomit and feces all over your life. It is a degenerative disease for which there is no cure, and left untreated, it can lead to death. Treatment can control, and even stop the symptoms, but even with proper treatment, there is always the possibility that symptoms may reoccur. This condition must be monitored constantly by your partner, in conjunction with a group of specialists, and treatment must occur daily, occupying several hours each week for life. Depending on the type of treatment, it may cost thousands of dollars a year, or initially even thousands of dollars a month. Most insurance will not cover it. Dealing with the disease requires radical changes to lifestyle, habits and expectations for the patient and the entire family.

There's no controlling when or where it will strike. You may go for months or years without an episode. You may become complacent and forget about it. Stress exacerbates the disorder, so there's the constant threat of vomiting or loss of bowel control at your child's wedding or your big anniversary party or the first week of his new job or in front of your boss at an important event. It will ruin your furniture, your floors and some of your most prized possessions. It will embarrass you. It may cause friends, neighbors and family members to decline to spend time with your family. You may hide it from them to avoid losing them altogether, just as your partner hid it from you.

Addiction: it's dirty, it's messy, it's disgusting, it's painful. It can be treated, but not cured, and it's with you for life.

I'm going to leave you with that and come back tomorrow with more on why partners stick around. But for those of you who are not involved with addicts, who have a relationship with a normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill spouse or partner, ask yourselves, would you stay -- not with an addict, but with your present partner, if you discovered that person had the digestive disease I just described? Would you leave that vomiting fool or stick around? And why?

I'd love to hear some of you "normies" (um, normal people) share. So, leave me a comment with some thoughts, or the URL of a blog post if you decided to blog about it yourself. Addicts and codies can just tell me whether or not they feel like they have more than their share of metaphorical shit in life.

I think I will call this musing about not wanting to write good enough, and send you all over to give a virtual hug to The Junky's Wife whose husband is relapsing. Relapsing will get you down, even vicariously. I'm going to make popcorn and watch Bug, which I rented on recommendation.

• My friend, Ellen, whom I thought of on her birthday but neglected to call or e-mail. Um, happy belated birthday on my blog, if you are reading. (How lame is that?) I thought of her tonight because I was eating cookie dough ice cream straight from the carton. Back in college, Ellen taught me it worked better if you ate it with a fork, so you could rake out and enjoy all the cookie dough, maximizing your eating pleasure.

• How much I wanted to massage the knots out of my husband's neck and shoulders tonight. He fell asleep putting the kids to bed and is out for the night, meaning we didn't get our post-kids-in-bed time together. There is a bottle of lavender massage oil on my bedside table, taunting me.
• My nice clean bathroom. It helps to have a visitor in town who will play with the kids while I get work done around the house.
• The condolence card and (separately) the home video DVD we thoughtfully received from a friend and how much I appreciate that friendship.
• How I need to come up with some new tags and topics to make my ads more interesting.
• How much I want to find time and privacy to sit down and write a real blog post!

I'm trying to avoid thinking about...

• The thousand and one things on my to do list: thank you notes, returning a phone call from a friend, putting away the laundry, getting an oil change for my car, etc.

• The complaints I have been getting from my son's school about his behavior. I'm frustrated with the school and a bit at a loss as to how to handle both the school and what to do with my son.
• My husband's addiction. My mind is not quite where it ought to be. I've slipped into seeing things from inside the Matrix occasionally, instead of staying outside where I have been for the past few years. I feel like I'm looking at my finger in a glass of water and thinking it looks broken. I can see the warp, I know where it's coming from, but I can't make my mind see the finger as whole yet.

Perhaps you've found yourself up all night crying because a damaged loved one has been doing something crazy and stupid, and you've fallen down all twelve steps right to the basement of despair, and your eyes are swollen to puffy slits in your face, and you have a visitor coming to stay with you who ought not to be privy to the details of your pain or your loved one's insanity, and you think to yourself, "How am I going to fix my face and these slits for eyes that are a dead giveaway that I've been up all night crying?" I'll tell you how, my friends. Here's a little something I learned from Damsel in Distress: Preparation H isn't just for your hemorrhoids anymore. It takes down facial swelling like a dream.

Yes, I smeared hemorrhoid cream on my face, and those swollen eyes disappeared. I looked like a normal person and greeted my guest with a smile. And I thought I'd pass along this face saving (pun brutally intended) beauty tip to all you weepy codependents who may find yourself in similar need one day.