Plates of Snow
The depths of deception required for addiction to flourish is well documented. Blindness and avoidance of the enabler is not.
I sat on the floor, next to the bed and in front of the nightstand staring at the off-white oval plate in front of me. My first thought had been - what a slob. I had been cleaning out my husband’s nightstand so that our 9-year- old son could use it. He wouldn’t need it anymore, thinking about my estranged husbands’ “new” apartment down the street. It was one of those that looked okay on the outside as you drive by at 35 mph but if you look just a little closer you see the rust on the rails, yellowness of the blinds and the baby roach indicating infestation in the corner. In the process I found the plate. My brain, practiced in ignoring the obvious, thought it might be the remnant of a late night snack. And then I saw the razor. And the straw.
How deep my avoidance and denial ran still surprises me. I was in the thick of it, in the midst of turning over rocks and finding snakes. I thought I knew the extent of the damage only to keep finding more snakes sheltered in my hole of avoidance.
Sitting on the floor I felt numb. Somewhere inside me there was betrayal, anger, sadness, longing, but I couldn’t touch it yet. He had told me he had never done cocaine in the house. I had believed him. I believed him when he told me they weren’t his cigarette butts in the backyard, when he was working late, when he sat in his car all night “on the phone”, when he was working late, when he had to pee 3 times during a 45 minute road trip and twice during a 40 minute therapy session, when he was working late. I believed him at the ENT office when I saw his damaged nose and he said it was from drug use in his 20s.
Understanding the depth of deception over those last two years is impossible. How do you reconcile reality?
His addiction had infiltrated our lives and lurked behind every conversation not had, extra bathroom break taken, and now every drawer unopened. Beginning to understand that the two years I spent desperately trying to connect to something, anything; he was desperately trying to disconnect from everything.
The result was a fucking mess.
Sitting on the floor all the ways I avoided, ignored, didn’t see what was right in front of me, all of the ways I failed as a wife, mother, best friend, floated around in my head. Before it could take over I swatted it away and focused on what I could fix. I could be better now. I would do better now. Oprah always quotes Maya Angelou - “when you know better you do better.” I would do better alone.
Confused kids, broken husband, fortified mom.
Sitting on the floor I took out my cell phone and placed the razor and straw on the plate. I took a picture of the items and emailed them to myself, filing away another piece of the jigsaw.
Our cat, Snow, came by wondering why I was sitting on the floor. She bumped her head against my arm for some attention. Swallowing my tears before they could manifest and breathing out the swelling in my chest, I rubbed her head and brought the plate to the kitchen sink to wash the white residue away.
Then I opened every single drawer. I pulled out every single thing in the closet. I found a gun cleaning kit that I convinced myself was some sort of drug manufacturing device. I found a condom. I found a sex toy package that had sat unopened for 10 years now open and empty. I sent accusatory texts. He vehemently denied cheating. I believed him, still do. And so it goes.
I sat on the floor again facing the closet I had just ransacked wondering where I hadn’t looked. Where I could find more pieces to the life I didn’t know I was living. I wondered how I might get access to his car, his new apartment, his phone again. I was so thirsty for information. I needed more reasons to villainize him so that I could diminish my feelings of guilt. For not standing up for myself or my kids. I needed to find out everything so I wouldn’t have to find out any more.
Another head bump from Snow... my son came up with the name, I’m not sure how since she’s a black and brown brindle color. But Brad thought it was an awesome name so I went with it...the irony didn’t hit me until months and months later.
About the Creator
NOLA Steph
I recently identified GROWTH and CONNECTION as core values, and realized my writing hobby could offer an alternate path to both.
Contributions to this value-driven mission welcome via feedback or just a hello!
Cheers.



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