APPEARANCES
People who have known me for years, have always remarked on my impeccable housekeeping skills. But for the last two or three years, those skills have disappeared. I have pondered on this for the last couple of weeks, and as I was going into one of my deep clean phases, it dawned on me why. I no longer care about appearances. This house reflects the chaotic life that we live.
I have always liked a clean house ever since I was young. I have childhood memories of the joys of knowing where to find anything in the house since it was always neat and orderly. A place for everything and everything in its place was the rule while I was growing up.
These skills have followed me through college, my first apartment and my first marriage. Herbert not only shared my love for a clean house, he helped maintain it and made me look like a slob. His closet and arrangement of clothes brought a whole new meaning to me, not only was it organized, it was color coded. Yes, compared to him, I was an amateur.
We moved in together in November 1981, married in May 1984 and our daughter was born in September 1987. Herbert died on December 10, 1987. And on this date, my cleaning obsession grew. Not like OCD, more like since I can't control what just happened, I can control how my house looked like. I remember so clearly walking into that house and cleaning up after the EMT's. After all my mother was due to fly in within the hour and heaven forbid she see a mess. Or see the heartbreak that I was enduring or the total lack of control that I felt. But, at least the house would be clean and orderly. Who gave a damn if everything else was falling apart, my heart, my life and my dreams.
I did remarry in April of 1990 to Alan. I thought I knew this man, yet I didn't. I did not know that he was an alcoholic. Yes, I saw him drink, but we did not live together because in a lot of ways, I am old fashioned and I did have a small child. I was not going to bring a man to live at the house unless it was under marriage. Within our first year of marriage, he was in the first of many rehabs. He blamed his drinking in having to live in "Herbert's" house. Thus, I sold the house and moved to a different town, same town where the business was located.
The move didn't stop the drinking. But the house was impeccable at all times. You know those homes, you feel like you walk into a museum or see on a show on TV. The front yard was meticulously maintained with annuals, perennials, trees, both evergreens and flowering. And lets not forget the appropriated decorations on the front of the house for the season. The back yard had the perfect table and lounge chairs. The perfect swing set for my daughter and her friends to play on as well as the vegetable garden, cutting flower garden and fabulous landscaping.
Appearances, that is all this was. Let's appear like I have my shit together so they don't see the constant inner pain that I felt as he yet picks up another bottle, goes to another rehab and promises once again to work the program. Let alone the pain that I felt after the miscarriages and he turned to a bottle for comfort while I lay in bed yearning for another child and grieving the loss of the child that was to be. I wish I could say I endured this pain only once or twice, but why five?
Appearances, as I learned to accept that alcoholism was not my problem. That I did not cause it, I could not change it, I could not control it. But I could control how I reacted to the situation. I could change my behavior and not give a damn whether he was sober or not. So the appearances continued. The house was still immaculate no matter when you came over. I threw myself into the PTA and several other volunteer activities. If I was home, I was in the process of some type of home improvement. Or sewing or quilting, anything not to deal with his problem or confront the situation at hand or take a long hard look at the farce that my marriage was and the pain and loneliness that I constantly felt. Yes, I had plenty of acquaintances but few that I would share these deep thoughts. And the ones I did, had no understanding of loving someone, yet hating the disease.
My precious daughter got my undivided attention. There was not an after school activity that she was not involved in or play date with a friend. I tried to keep her as far away from this dysfunction as possible. I learned to detach from him with love instead of hate. After all, it was his problem not mine. Another convenient white lie that we constantly tell ourselves when involved with someone with addiction problems.
He finally followed a program and was in recovery. We did a year of therapy to regain the trust that he had broken and for six years, we did have a good marriage and in those six years, my four boys were born. But yet, the appearances of the perfect house and perfect life had not disappeared.
Then the diagnosis for the twins in June 2001 were delivered, Twin A, development delay, Twin B, PDD-NOS. I had a new focus. Yet once again was I talking about my fears for their future, the worry that each one of goes through when those words are utter at us, yes, I cried for about 5 minutes and now I had new areas to research and how to properly help them succeed. Even though Alan's problems were beginning to reemerge, I concentrated on getting the twins as much help as I could.
All through this, the chaos that was surrounding my life, the house continued to be immaculate. Appearances - I now was not only dealing with an alcoholic, I was dealing with children with special needs. New missions on why things had to be just right at home at all times. And in some of this anal retentive control, it actually helped the twins to thrive since everything was so scheduled and so on time. The patience of redirecting behaviors was a piece of cake. I already like things in order, this justified the need for schedules and a clean house so that William and Joseph could thrive and grow. Repetition, consistency and schedules so important for a child on the spectrum so important that it came natural to follow through all the therapies. And to further not dwell on the dysfunction that the family was living through in an alcoholism household.
At this time, I had also returned to work side by side with my husband since the administrative assistant/general manager gave him less than a two week notice in the busiest time of the construction business. Not only was it the busy construction busy, but all the computer efficient computer systems that I had set up before leaving the company several years earlier, where not kept up with and here was a $8,000,000 company doing all the accounting work by hand, no computer system and the inventory control had not been kept up in the six years I had been gone. Once again, I went into that OCD control and took over, what was supposed to be two weeks to train someone to do the job, turned into me being the majority holder of the company with the proper designations of MBE and FBE. Two very important designations in the construction industry especially since we specialized in hospital work and they get federal and state money. At work, I was efficient and successful. Clients consistently valued and asked my opinion, but they did not know that this was once again this was an appearance and illusion and because I had no control with my marriage or his addictions. I could at least succeed once again in another area and nobody would suspect that my shit was not together at home, in my marriage and that I was dying a thousand deaths. I would sit there lie through my teeth once again with the cover ups of why Alan was not in the office and rehabs turned into back surgeries, etc. Appearances they are a bitch.
We moved in together in November 1981, married in May 1984 and our daughter was born in September 1987. Herbert died on December 10, 1987. And on this date, my cleaning obsession grew. Not like OCD, more like since I can't control what just happened, I can control how my house looked like. I remember so clearly walking into that house and cleaning up after the EMT's. After all my mother was due to fly in within the hour and heaven forbid she see a mess. Or see the heartbreak that I was enduring or the total lack of control that I felt. But, at least the house would be clean and orderly. Who gave a damn if everything else was falling apart, my heart, my life and my dreams.
I did remarry in April of 1990 to Alan. I thought I knew this man, yet I didn't. I did not know that he was an alcoholic. Yes, I saw him drink, but we did not live together because in a lot of ways, I am old fashioned and I did have a small child. I was not going to bring a man to live at the house unless it was under marriage. Within our first year of marriage, he was in the first of many rehabs. He blamed his drinking in having to live in "Herbert's" house. Thus, I sold the house and moved to a different town, same town where the business was located.
The move didn't stop the drinking. But the house was impeccable at all times. You know those homes, you feel like you walk into a museum or see on a show on TV. The front yard was meticulously maintained with annuals, perennials, trees, both evergreens and flowering. And lets not forget the appropriated decorations on the front of the house for the season. The back yard had the perfect table and lounge chairs. The perfect swing set for my daughter and her friends to play on as well as the vegetable garden, cutting flower garden and fabulous landscaping.
Appearances, that is all this was. Let's appear like I have my shit together so they don't see the constant inner pain that I felt as he yet picks up another bottle, goes to another rehab and promises once again to work the program. Let alone the pain that I felt after the miscarriages and he turned to a bottle for comfort while I lay in bed yearning for another child and grieving the loss of the child that was to be. I wish I could say I endured this pain only once or twice, but why five?
Appearances, as I learned to accept that alcoholism was not my problem. That I did not cause it, I could not change it, I could not control it. But I could control how I reacted to the situation. I could change my behavior and not give a damn whether he was sober or not. So the appearances continued. The house was still immaculate no matter when you came over. I threw myself into the PTA and several other volunteer activities. If I was home, I was in the process of some type of home improvement. Or sewing or quilting, anything not to deal with his problem or confront the situation at hand or take a long hard look at the farce that my marriage was and the pain and loneliness that I constantly felt. Yes, I had plenty of acquaintances but few that I would share these deep thoughts. And the ones I did, had no understanding of loving someone, yet hating the disease.
My precious daughter got my undivided attention. There was not an after school activity that she was not involved in or play date with a friend. I tried to keep her as far away from this dysfunction as possible. I learned to detach from him with love instead of hate. After all, it was his problem not mine. Another convenient white lie that we constantly tell ourselves when involved with someone with addiction problems.
He finally followed a program and was in recovery. We did a year of therapy to regain the trust that he had broken and for six years, we did have a good marriage and in those six years, my four boys were born. But yet, the appearances of the perfect house and perfect life had not disappeared.
Then the diagnosis for the twins in June 2001 were delivered, Twin A, development delay, Twin B, PDD-NOS. I had a new focus. Yet once again was I talking about my fears for their future, the worry that each one of goes through when those words are utter at us, yes, I cried for about 5 minutes and now I had new areas to research and how to properly help them succeed. Even though Alan's problems were beginning to reemerge, I concentrated on getting the twins as much help as I could.
All through this, the chaos that was surrounding my life, the house continued to be immaculate. Appearances - I now was not only dealing with an alcoholic, I was dealing with children with special needs. New missions on why things had to be just right at home at all times. And in some of this anal retentive control, it actually helped the twins to thrive since everything was so scheduled and so on time. The patience of redirecting behaviors was a piece of cake. I already like things in order, this justified the need for schedules and a clean house so that William and Joseph could thrive and grow. Repetition, consistency and schedules so important for a child on the spectrum so important that it came natural to follow through all the therapies. And to further not dwell on the dysfunction that the family was living through in an alcoholism household.
At this time, I had also returned to work side by side with my husband since the administrative assistant/general manager gave him less than a two week notice in the busiest time of the construction business. Not only was it the busy construction busy, but all the computer efficient computer systems that I had set up before leaving the company several years earlier, where not kept up with and here was a $8,000,000 company doing all the accounting work by hand, no computer system and the inventory control had not been kept up in the six years I had been gone. Once again, I went into that OCD control and took over, what was supposed to be two weeks to train someone to do the job, turned into me being the majority holder of the company with the proper designations of MBE and FBE. Two very important designations in the construction industry especially since we specialized in hospital work and they get federal and state money. At work, I was efficient and successful. Clients consistently valued and asked my opinion, but they did not know that this was once again this was an appearance and illusion and because I had no control with my marriage or his addictions. I could at least succeed once again in another area and nobody would suspect that my shit was not together at home, in my marriage and that I was dying a thousand deaths. I would sit there lie through my teeth once again with the cover ups of why Alan was not in the office and rehabs turned into back surgeries, etc. Appearances they are a bitch.
Then his death occurred shortly after he returned from rehab, again. Once again the appearances of what he died of became a heart attack instead of a lethal dose of Xanax and hydrocodone. Heaven forbid anyone find out that he was an alcoholic and addicted to prescription medication.
I have come to terms with all the roles that I have played in the dysfunction of this family. I can not keep with appearances, let alone what people , do not walk in my shoes on a daily basis, have to think.
Yes, this house is a chaos, an disorganized chaos. The only one that it truly bothers is me. But the reason it bothers me is not because I am trying to convey that I have my shit in order. It bothers me because I can't stand to look at the mess and I miss being able to find the stuff that I need at a moments notice.
I know that once school is back in session, it will take me a couple of days to get things under control, but for now, the mess and chaos will continue. And if anyone walks in the house, I no longer care. This is my life and welcome to it.
PS - if any of you want to come see me, please give me an hour notice so that it does not look as bad as it can get with the piglets that are my children.
Beautifully written. Also a very soulful retelling of the life you have led. I will be honest. I am inspired. Your straight forward honesty is a quality that you rarely see and you have it.
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