What is worse than watching someone you love hurt themselves with substances, day in and day out?  Watching a loved one begin to recover and seeing them slip into an abyss of swirling consciousness and fractured sensibility. Staci stood still, hoping that the familiar dread rising up and constricting her throat would recede so that she could swallow hard and breathe.  Breathe in deeply hold and breathe out.  She counted breaths in and hold and out and hold, as she had been taught in group, until she achieved a rhythm that was satisfying, centering.  She could feel her heart pounding, yet she knew that if she continued breathing, focused on remaining calm she could stave off a panic attack. 
Steve was slouched against the couch, his cheek pressed against his right shoulder.  She watched, and listened to his labored breathing and imagined stiffness the crick in his neck might cause.  Although, a painfully stiff neck would not trump the general malaise of the full body hangover he would wake up to. Steve and Staci, the names went together, sounded good together she thought.  Why couldn't he be her Steve the fun guy she loved so very much.  Why did he turn into this other guy?  She watched a string of drool fall from his chin onto his chest.  This guy, she thought, doesn't care how he looks, or sounds; to her or anybody else.  This drunk guy drinks and drinks and wants the world to "f" off and leave him alone.  This guy wants to shut everyone who cares about him out.
Last night in group they had talked about relapse and how devastated  people feel when it happens to their person.  She noticed silent tears running down her cheeks they tickled her chin as they fell onto her top.  She breathed deeply to ward off the feelings of hopelessness that threatened to well up and overwhelm her.  Standing in the doorway, neither in or out of the room, Staci thought more about her group last night.  What had the tall women with the alcoholic son and father and ex-husband said? Brenda, that was her name, said that she couldn't help marrying an alcoholic because she was attracted to what was familiar to her.  And she realized that her son had grown up watching men drink.  Brenda, had been attending this group for over five years and had learned a great deal about herself.  Others in the group listened to what she said because they respected her kind, thoughtful and vulnerable perspectives about her struggles to regain control of her own life.  She often talked about her roles as a daughter, wife and mother to these men she loved and how she had been set up since childhood to care for them more than they cared for themselves.  She also talked about how she couldn't take care of herself when focused on them.
 Fiona or Fin, the facilitator listened and watched for reactions from the group.  She liked when seasoned members of the group like Brenda, helped newer people by sharing her own experience.  She knew of nothing more powerful than a person who had been through so much emotional pain in their own lives, telling others about how much better it can become with the gift of time and commitment to change.
Staci wanted to turn around and walk away and never look back.  She felt angry and stuck in the doorway neither in or out.......  To be continued.