You Took My Soul, But Please Leave Me My Bacon

So this Saturday morning I decided to make a delicious brunch for my husband and I. I mixed mashed bananas, fresh blueberries and vanilla yogurt into my organic pancake mix and fried up some organic nitrite and nitrate free bacon. The morning had started off rough, us fighting about him leaving to clean the car, needing to take the bank card that I desperately try to manage in order to prevent loss of already dangerously low checking account funds. Following a hug and “I love you”, I gave in and let him go (the car was disgusting I thought) and proceeded to follow in a plan of self-love and make a delicious and somewhat healthy (organic ingredients, blueberries and bananas, Greek yogurt…oh yeah and butter, maple syrup, and bacon too) brunch for the two of us.  Reflecting over the week, my husband seemed to stay sober but with it came the depression, unresponsiveness, reflux, and fatigue that comes with a damaged brain depleted of dopamine and a sober mind coping with the difficult and mundane reality of life. I had spent the week trying to separate myself from the misery, immerse myself in work, exercise, write, and try (with slight success I might add) my new endeavor: meditation.

My husband arrived from washing the car in pretty good spirits. I pushed the suspicion from my mind and happily served up brunch. Now I have this thing that when I eat, I save my favorite bites for last.  My husband knows this. He finished his pancakes and bacon and goes in for seconds, but the bacon is gone, except for what is on my plate. He says: “you should give me some of your bacon”. I say “no, this is my bacon”. He gets a twinkle in his eye, coming in to hug me all the while jokingly (or is it a joke?) reaching for my bacon. I exclaim, “You have taken my soul, for God’s sake, please just leave my bacon!” And there it is, here I sit at our kitchen island sharing my life with a man who has taken over my life so much that I feel robbed of my heart and soul as I cling to some breakfast meat. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I settling for just a few pieces of organic bacon???

So here it is: this thing I have been contemplating, setting a bottom line.  Is my bottom line that he doesn’t take my bacon? Is that he doesn’t get my bank card? Is it that I leave him if he doesn’t go to rehab? I kick him out of the house if he can’t stay sober?  What is it? One thing I know based on the many Intervention episodes I have seen is that I suck at setting bottom lines.




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