Here's what I wish I'd written:
It's SO GREAT that you played the guitar. You can't really know if you're genetically stunted and disfigured fingers are the reason you struggled, or if you just don't know how to do it yet. My dad picked up the drums in his 50s, practiced every night, and still sucked at it. But he had fun making a ton of noise and being the center of attention (regardless of where we were in the house) while he sucked.
I know you know my solution to my own drinking "problem". ha. I gotta be honest and tell you something: I was pretty sure this was going to happen. Hence encouraging you to tell your husband way back when. But I have since realized that it doesn't really matter when you tell him, just as long as you tell him. Keep in mind, it (hopefully) won't be just one discussion, either. How long did it take me to get a real understanding of this disease and baclofen thing? (ha. Some would say I'm not there yet.) Think back to your perception of the disease when you got here. Then explain it to yourself, and then use that with him. (Maybe. Just thinking in writing...) Plus, it will be good in so many ways. Really. Haven't you ever shared a secret burden, or confessed to something, and then found voila! it no longer had power? This is gonna be like that.
It makes sense to me that drinking leads to more drinking. That doesn't mean you have to beat yourself up about it. It's a lesson we all learn the hard way. Maybe that's the only way to learn this particular lesson, because it's the nature of the disease to seek out the only treatment our brains know: booze. (Or drugs, or sex. Whatever.)
I am really sorry it's so painful. That's the part I have no visceral memory of, but have memories about what I wrote and said about it. IT SUCKS. And I'm really and truly sorry. But you'll get free of it again, soon. jkttdp. And walking. And other stuff.
I walked my dog--5000 steps! Halfway to the goal and it's only 11AM! woot!
Another endlessly long one. Sorry again.
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