Moving Out And Moving On ~ Chapter 27

There’s no other feeling like it.

The following is an excerpt from my memoir, Saturation.

My divorce from Dick finalized on 17 November 2006 and about two weeks later I decided to move out and go back into treatment. This time, going to treatment was my idea. There was nothing ‘Court Appointed’ about it. For toxic reasons unbeknownst to both of us at the time, we continued living together throughout our divorce. Like I mentioned before, Dick was as addicted to me as I was to alcohol, and I found him and our relationship convenient. We’d been married two weeks shy of 18 months.

A couple of days after Thanksgiving, I hired a storage company to deliver a storage unit to the house. It arrived on 6 December and a friend of mine stopped by to help me pack my things. This until was picked up the following morning and I was supposed to check into my new treatment center that evening. The only items I kept out of storage were the things I planned to take with me. I’d be gone for 30 days this time, unlike the 20 days during my first rehab stint. I’d finally reached a crossroads and had concluded that the life I’d been living with Dick was no longer an option.

He tried to convince me to leave my things out of storage and spoke about remarrying after I got out of treatment. “No.” I said. “No, to what? No to leaving your things or no to remarrying me down the road?” “No, to both.” I could only look at him. His suggestions were pathetic and ludicrous. I might have felt sorry for him if he didn’t fill me with such revulsion.

I knew that if I didn’t move my things out first, I’d have to see him again once I got out of treatment. I’d rather lose a body part. Dick offered to take me to treatment in my car so he could keep it and drive it on occasion to prevent it from going rusty. “No, you can’t keep my car.” Then he offered to keep my dog. He suggested Rumi would feel safer with him and his dog than anyone else. I’d already taken Rumi to visit the most highly recommended boarding kennel in King County and had reserved a space for him for five weeks. “No, Dick. You can’t keep my dog either.”

On the morning of the 7th, after Dick left for work, I got up knowing I’d never sleep another night in that house and this stimulated me. I felt like I was about to leave prison and head of on some great adventure. This sensation was similar to the one I’d experienced walking out of jail on the day Dad bailed me out. My enthusiasm was nearly tangible…

Published by Jennifer

I've finally found my happy place in sobriety. Yay! Go Me!

%d bloggers like this: