Chapter 5: Carrie

The metallic scrape of Ernie’s keys against the lock made me jump. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I had donned Ernie’s favorite dark blue lace dress, reserved for special occasions.

“Hey,” I said. My whole body was shaking in fear.

“Hey,” my husband said back. He was eyeing me like I was some sick, abused puppy he had rescued from the pound. “Are you sober enough to talk?”

His question startled me.

“What? Yes, of course.” I tried to change the subject. “What do you want to eat?”

“I’m not hungry. We need to talk first,” he replied and walked into the living room.

He had made a decision. I knew it. I went into panic mode.

“Ernie, please, don’t leave me. I promise I’ll change. I swear I’ll stop drinking. Don’t walk out on me. Don’t give up on us—,” my last words were barely a whisper.

I threw myself at his feet while I begged for his forgiveness. I was willing to do anything to save our marriage.

He looked down at me, and asked, “Answer me this, Carrie, do you think you have a drinking problem?”

My lips almost said what my mind was screaming to say— “NO!”, instead I simply nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” I whispered because I knew it was the right thing to say.

Ernie offered me his hand and I took it.

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My admission placated my husband somewhat.

“Carrie, I love you, but I can’t take this anymore. I am at the end of my rope. Your promises are empty. It’s time to take action,” Ernie declared.

I was terrified. “Let me prove to you I’m serious. I’ll do anything you want.”

“What’s happening between us is beyond our control. I’m not giving up on us yet, but we’re in too deep alone, we need help,” he continued.

“You’re right, of course,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

At that moment, I would say anything to save my marriage. I didn’t want to stop drinking. I knew I could control it with a bit more effort ... No! That was a lie. I was out of control. Ernie was right, I needed help, but I didn’t want him to know how fucked up I actually was.

Ernie handed me a pamphlet.

“What is this?”

“There’s an A.A. meeting at church, tonight,” he said.

“Do you want me to go?” my heart skipped a beat.

Ernie looked at me. “Yes, but it won’t do you any good if I force you. You have to choose to go voluntarily.”

I was shivering. Things were happening too fast.

“I’m scared, baby. Truly scared,” I confessed. “Would you go with me?”

He nodded. “I’ll go with you to the first meeting. Then, you’ll have to go on your own.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” my voice was shaking with emotion. I didn’t deserve him.

“It might be a good idea if you talk with a psychologist, too.”

“Ernie, I might have a drinking problem, but I’m not crazy,” I protested.

“Carrie, you might not be crazy, but something is pushing you to drink your life away and you need to figure out what it is. Otherwise, you’ll be drinking again in no time. I’ve been reading the pamphlet; alcoholism is an addiction. If we want to beat this, we need all the help we can get.”

I was onboard as soon as he said ‘we.’

Ernie sighed, and added, “This is not negotiable.”

“Okay, Ernie. If you want me to go, I’ll do it.”

He shook his head vigorously, frustrated. “You don’t understand. It’s not for me, it’s for you! It’s not my life that is in danger, it’s yours!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything,” I cried.

I chose, once again, to save my marriage. I knew I would be lost without my husband.

“I’ll stop drinking, and I’ll do it for me, but I need your help. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it without you.”

This time, I truly meant it. The voices in my head were by then screaming, “NO! NO! NO!”

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to find out,” my husband said. “I hope with all my soul that you’re serious about this, Carrie. Let me warn you that there is no future for us if you keep drinking.”

I started crying again. The idea of losing Ernie was terrifying. He was the one person who truly loved me. My anchor in the stormy sea of my life. However, the idea of dealing with my demons without alcohol was also terrifying.

“I’ll do it ... I’ll change ... I promise ... You won’t regret giving me a second chance,” I sobbed. My hands were shaking because, at that moment, I needed a drink badly.

His response was barely audible, just above a whisper. “I hope not.”

I knew deep inside that I had issues to work on, but I was still blaming people, situations, and things in my past for my alcoholism.

“Before going to the meeting, we need to get rid of all the alcohol in the house,” he said, with arms crossed on his chest. “And I mean all of it, including all your secret stash.”

I did my best to look innocent.

“Don’t look at me like this. A week ago, I had to use your mouthwash because my bottle was empty,” he said, with a stern look on his face. “My tongue was very aware of what it was tasting.”

I looked down, ashamed of myself. Under the watchful gaze of my husband, I brought every bottle of alcohol that I had hidden around the house and emptied them in the toilet.