I Stopped Drinking; So Why am I Still Such an Asshole?

Like many survivors of trauma, I frequently find myself engaging in what mental health professionals refer to as “splitting”—a defense mechanism where people, experiences, and situations are categorized as either good or bad, with absolutely zero in-between.

Today, I hate my husband. Tomorrow, he might become the most incredible man I’ve ever met.

Deep down, I know his behavior (for better or worse) is consistent. The only thing that oscillates is my perception of him. So, theoretically, that should be enough to stop my fits of rage or my crying spells.

Unfortunately, knowledge doesn’t change behavior. And despite my honest attempts to do it differently “next time,” I continually find myself trapped in the same hell, armed with the same awareness, but unable to implement it.

Trying Something New

This time, rather than rely on self-help books, spiritual gurus, or the thousands of blogs I scroll daily searching for a cure, I’m going to do it differently.

I’m going to return to the one thing I know has worked for me in the past: vulnerability. I’m going to publicly share my struggle.

The truth is, I am ashamed. I hate admitting that my seemingly perfect world is nothing more than an illusion—something that looks great on paper (or on Facebook), but is certainly not devoid of insecurity, jealousy, and a deep-seated distrust of men, happiness, or love.

Like most relationships, we have wonderful times and not-so-wonderful times. But when challenges arise, I become anxious and afraid, as if they might erase anything healthy or positive about our marriage.

Until now, I wouldn’t be honest about the difficulties we experience. I would simply agree with you when you told me we were the “perfect couple.” This is old behavior coming full circle. It’s almost as if I’ve made it a game to see how completely dysfunctional I can be on the inside, while keeping it hidden from the outside world.

Sources of Fear

Isolation, abandonment, and loneliness continue to be my greatest sources of fear. I’m continually drawn to the opening lines of a poem by Clementine von Radics:

“I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you are a child playing with matches, and I have a paper body.”

When you’ve been exploited, taken advantage of, and treated like something to be toyed with, it’s hard not to become the perpetrator—the one who sets it all on fire and turns love into ashes.

I can’t seem to unlearn the belief that I screw up every relationship. And because I believe it, I manifest it. I end up with another failed relationship and even more evidence proving that I’m right, that I’ll end up alone.

Just like OxyContin won’t fix your broken leg (it will simply make you care less that it’s broken), alcohol made me less afraid of dying alone by forcing me to experience life in isolation, while simultaneously hindering my ability to feel sad about it.

When I was drinking, I was always alone, but I rarely felt lonely. I had a constant companion and a reliable way to numb out. But more than that, I had an excuse for my anger and rage.

When I lashed out and spewed venom—my head spinning around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist—I could blame it on the alcohol. I foolishly believed that if I stopped drinking, my rage would disappear. It didn’t. That feeling was already inside of me.

Take a Good Look at Yourself

As Wayne Dyer said, “If you squeeze apples, you get apple juice.”

Truth be told, my anger was not caused by the wine, my relationships, or anything outside of myself.

But I liked having a scapegoat. It allowed me to continue on my path of destruction while still playing the victim.

This isn't to say I haven’t endured legitimate trauma. But at the root of my anger lies the fact that I still allow painful experiences to control my life.

And just as I long blamed my misery on my addiction, I transferred the responsibility of ensuring my happiness onto my husband and then wondered why he was kicking and screaming to give it back.

I thought he would ride in like Prince Charming, sweep me off my feet, and live happily ever after.

But I forgot one crucial piece of the story: it’s still me on the back of the horse, and I’m still carrying all of my demons with me.

I’m simultaneously trying to sort through all of my baggage while also trying to live up to society’s impossible standards about how women should look, feel, and act. I am exhausted of constantly placing myself in the “worthy” or “unworthy” category on a minute-to-minute basis.

It’s times like this that I miss drinking, but not for the obvious reasons. My addiction led me to such dark, seedy places that I had no choice but to abandon the pursuit of perfection.

Forget maintaining a perfect figure, always being polite, or keeping a spotless house. I was just trying to stay out of jail.

Reflecting on the few positives is a reminder that things are neither good nor bad. They just are. And if I can find beauty in my addiction, I can find it anywhere, including my anger.

Using Anger to Gauge Self-Worth

Despite my insecurities and challenges around self-worth, my anger is proof that a part of me still believes I deserve to be safe and unharmed.

I love that part of me, and I never want to lose it. But on my journey toward healing, perhaps I need to move it from the driver’s seat into the trunk.

What I pray for in moments of insanity is the courage to be vulnerable—courage that exposes what’s left of my hidden shame and unravels my need to use rage as protection.

When we embrace our imperfections, there’s nothing left to hide, and more importantly, nothing left to defend.

By confronting head-on what we deem “imperfect,” we trump fear with love and bring light to dark places.

I suppose that’s how we create the delicious gray areas of life, where I can admit that I might occasionally still be an asshole.

...But I am no longer a drunk asshole. And I choose to call that progress.

You Don’t Have to Carry This Alone

If anger, trauma, or addiction is shaping your relationships and your sense of self, you don’t have to untangle it alone. Support can change everything. Visit Recovery.com to find drug and alcohol treatment centers that match your needs, compare options, and take the next step toward healing. Recovery is possible, and help is available today.