Liar’s Eyes

You have liar’s eyes. Bags under them, a little shifty, a little out of focus.

Addict’s eyes.

I ask you if you’re using. You huff and walk away.

You can’t get angry just because I ask you a perfectly reasonable question, especially since I know you’re still drinking.

I’m not mad, you say.

But you’re sober?


I don’t believe you.

You don’t even remember how many times you’ve lied exactly. Your addict’s brain, the perfect liar, doesn’t keep track like that. Or so you say.

I don’t have room in my life for this.

I was home all day with a very sick 3-year-old. I lost track of how many times he was sick but here are some quick statistics:

  • 3 = number of hours I slept last night between his vomiting spells
  • 6 =  loads of laundry I did today to clean up all of his clothes, bedding, towels, etc.
  • 3 = new kinds of nurse-recommended clear liquid his saintly grandmother brought over this morning: grape Pedialyte, orange Pedialyte, and 7 Up. His first taste of soda. He liked the “the green stuff.”
  • 2 = number of crying boys I had hanging on me at 8:27 am
  • 1 = bellybutton filled with puke

It was a long day, no question. But I was glad to do it. I miss my boys while I’m at work all day and even while cleaning up vomit I treasure my time with them.

So when alcoholic husband came over after work to take over, I was relieved. 12 hours on the clock is about as much as I can handle, and my own stomach is starting to turn.

But then I noticed his eyes. And I’d rather just be here by myself.

I don’t think I’ll be able to trust him again, and if we do get divorced in three months these lying, addict’s eyes will be in my life forever.

The father of my children, dishonest and broken. Eyes dead.

It hurts.


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