He is in and I am out. He is in treatment and I am out in the world. He is in recovery and I need to be too. I need to be out here healing. When you live with an individual who is actively using, you are in what I would like to call survival mode. I was in and he was out. I was in survival mode, he was out of his mind. For me that meant working, paying bills, monitoring my husband’s safety, coping with anxiety, worry, and sadness, coveting money, cleaning, cooking, trying to get my husband into treatment, and trying to take care of myself. There is no space in the heart to store emotions, there is no time in the brain for processing. To cope, you must be numb. You must be out, checked out. It was an out of body experience, I was a machine going through the motions. He was in obliteration, in the prison of his own mind. I only realize that now, because as I wake up from this coma-like hyper-vigilant state, the feeling slowly comes back to my paralyzed limbs. It is a defrosting of the icy mind. As I step back into my body, it is hard to bear, the emotions come out, they are razor sharp. The wounds, I am discovering, are deep in. My husband came out to me about some truths that had previously been lies. It is petrifying when you recognize that even when you knew, you actually had no idea. NO IDEA AT ALL. I suspect that is only the tip of the iceberg. My life may completely cave in. I will still be standing out here in the unforgiving-forgiving world, like I have through all of it. The difference is I will be standing with my chest a gaping hole, tears streaming, my mind doing somersaults. I can’t fall apart now, can I? I am scared. I can’t ever go back. I won’t survive it again. Sigh-breathe in, breathe out. He is in and I am out.