You know what’s coming, but you’re powerless.
I used to think that living with the denial of someone else’s addiction was like a house fire. Dramatic, all consuming and devastating. These 3 factors remain true, but now I realize it’s more. It’s more excruciating, it takes longer, and yet there is no finite end point. It’s not just watching the curtains blaze while the addict sits on the couch, talks about the weather and sips their tea. The smoke eventually engulfing everyone and the flames bringing the whole sad scene to a definite finale.
No, this isn’t a fire. There is no end to this. You are grieving someone, but there are no ashes to scatter. This isn’t a fire; this is a flood. This is water pouring through the letterbox, overcoming the door, seeping through the walls, rotting everything.
The addict sits on the couch, talks about the weather and sips their tea.
It’s the rising water and the gushing septic mess. It’s the scrambling for higher ground, pleading with the addict to help themselves.
The addict remains on the couch, talks about the weather and sips their tea.
They are offended that you mention a flood; there is no flood. You are stupid for thinking there’s a flood. You start to question if there really is flood, while you grip onto a sodden windowsill, with your fingers slipping, and waves crash into the broken glass all around you.
The addict sits on the couch, talks about the weather and sips their tea.
Living with an addict’s denial is a flood and not a fire. The water keeps rising, the couch has lifted from the floor, the walls have collapsed, the couch becomes mobile.
The addict remains unmoved from the couch, talks about the weather and sips their tea.
The couch is swept away with all the other debris and sewage, it’s gaining momentum. A swirling mass of wind and rain threatens to overcome the couch. The addict feels a slight awareness in the back of their mind that something isn’t quite right, but talks about the weather and sips their tea. Their discomfort is probably your fault with your ridiculous claim of there being a flood. What would you know anyway?
The couch charges on, there’s a ravine up ahead, there are crocodiles snapping at the bottom of the ravine. The hopeless inevitability hits you. They will fall into the ravine with the snapping crocodiles. Time slows down. It’s like the moment you know that cars will collide but being completely powerless to stop it. The momentum will now outrun any action from anyone. Even the addict themselves and especially you and your infinite helplessness can’t stop this now. Every time you think it couldn’t get worse, every time you think you can no longer be shocked by this devastating disaster, there’s still more.
The addict continues to sit on the couch, talk about the weather and sip their tea.
