First time post - feeling strangely naked.

My wife is an alcoholic and has been for around three or four years - it was pretty gradual so its hard to say exactly.  She functions pretty well, but is drinking more and more - she thinks secretly, but she's lousy at hiding drink, and so obviously drunk when she thinks she's being covert.  It would be funny if it were not so annoying.  What hurts most is she knows I know she's drinking, knows I know she's lying about just about everything, and has no compunction about stealing from me, and in the sneakiest possible ways - so inventive.   She must have stolen £10,000 in three years either helping herself to my bank account, or running up credit cards until it gets silly, and I end up paying them off.

She's come to such an accomodation with lying she no longer tells the truth even if nothing is at stake, and has no need to lie - its just her default position.  Today she came in from walking the dogs (with whom she is as dutiful and loyal as anyone, drunk or sober), and put a bottle of wine down on the counter proudly proclaiming she only got one bottle today - its work tomorrow!  So, how come she's slurring her speech and cursing at the hi-fi when it wont do what she wants, and yet the bottle isn't opened yet?  Well, two empty cider tins and another bottle of wine in the bedroom answer that question.

I've done all the stuff you think you're the first ever to do - shouting, threatening, drinking with her, telling her we're finished, begging her to see sense, comforting her - everything i can think of, and recently I have begun to start thinking through how to split up with as little mess as possible - she would be monstrous if she really thought it was happening.  I've wondered if I should quietly put my important possessions in storage without saying anything, so that when she goes crazy and wrecks everything (she's done this before) there is less collateral damage.  Your mind goes into overdrive thinking it all through.

I ask myself why I havent just walked away up to now, and I think its because I do care a great deal about her, and I worry she would end up on the street quite quickly.  Of course, at first she'd have half of the proceeds of splitting to live off, or get a new place with - but she's pathetic with money and has no concept of budgetting.  It makes me worry she'd be homelss or dead in five years. 

And now she's hit me with the sucker punch - she's been diagnosed with breast cancer.  We're waiting for the verdict on the best course of treatment, but of course its making her drink even more, despite me pointing out the drink may have caused the cancer.  I am wracked with grief that she may die, but depressed that she may live - how heartless does that sound?  I can't leave her now - not when she is ill and will need someone to look after her.  And if she lives, and gets well, she'll still drink and I'll be trapped, too afraid of the guilt to leave.

A few weeks ago, I felt depressed and suicidal and, comically it seems to me now, bought a kit from Europe to do myself in with helium gas - you'd be amazed how easy it is. Somewhere in there, there's a great joke about "Brexit".  Anyway, it was £400; got it delivered to Argos of all places (sorry Argos, its no fault of yours), so I could collect it privately.  When I collected it, I opened the package and immediately knew I didn't seriously want to die - I was too f****g angry at the rubbish they send you while parting you from £400!! You dont even get the helium!  Oh no, you have to go a kids balloon shop or something for that, and to top it all, I later spotted the same kit from Australia for only $200Aus. In a strange way, it did me good - I sat in the car, gazing at this nonsense and cursing and moaning about what a jackass I am.  Its something that's given me a laugh a few times, but also something I cold easily weep over when I think of what put me in that frame of mind to begin with.  Thankfully, that little episode of black comedy has stopped me being scared of those thoughts, as I've learned I am only morbidly curious, not serious.

I do wonder if I am her problem really.  I can outdrink her anytime, and I love a drink - in fact I'm always a bit suspicious of people who don't like a drink.  Indeed on a weekend, I might easily drink more than her in a sitting.  But whereas she has no off switch, I can just choose to drink or not to drink as my mood, and the circumstances dictate - OK, its a lot to do with being too idle to go get it - I dont think I've ever wanted a drink enough to make the effort to go buy some, but I would drop it in the trolley if I'm doing the weekly shop.  She'd walk over broken glass in her bare feet to suck a barmaids apron!.  Its a worry though - while I would characterise myself as a binge drinker, more than an alcoholic; I can't help but wonder where that line is when you stop sucking out of the bottle and it starts sucking out of you - I'm paraphrasing a line from "One flew over the cuckoos nest".  A big concern for me is are we creating a problem for each other - you know, me validating her drinking by also drinking, and her dragging across the line of self-control. I heard a joke recently that said "Q:What did they call binge drinking in the eighties?  A:Drinking".  Its kinda true I think, but drinking in the eighties was all done down the pub, but now its in front of Netflix, where there's no last orders.

As things are today, I am as happy with a coke or orange squash as I am with wine, but pour me a glass and I'll drink it - so I dont think I'm helping her, but if I do refuse a drink as I sometimes do, I get this whole sarcastic "Oh, YOURE being good arent you?" line.  As though not drinking is really wierd - Oh, I just wish she'd stop drinking or go away.  I love her too much to want to abandon her, but she loves the drink too much to hear me when I ask her to consider AA or some other counselling.  So, now she's got this cancer, it puts a ton of concrete in my stomach, but there's a tiny far off voice in my head telling me its an escape - and that is the scariest thing I've had to face yet.  I don't know who is more callous - me harbouring this guilty idea that her death might just fix everything, or her lying in the gutter looking down on me (Again, not mine - I think that's Oscar Wilde?)

So, there we have it.  I don't really feel able to claim I'm a victim, or accept the role of the protagonist - just a player in a dismal situation.  Looks a bit gloomy, but I try to find some light when I can.

I'm sure I've ranted on enough, so sorry everyone, sorry, sorry!  If you want to call me a jackass, you may be right, or maybe you have something constructive to suggest - I suspect I havent said a single original thing in all the remarks above have I? - there must be thousand of spouses who've tottered across the same crumbling bridge wondering if there are others in the waters below trying not to drown.