To have endearing faith. In Julie.

Believe me. It’s scary. Watching friend Julie. In withdrawals. Three weeks after she’s had her last drink. I start to have doubts. About the prospects of a full recovery. I’m told by so-called experts. That presumably know far more than I. To not worry. To not overreact to what I’m seeing. That it takes time. Sometimes weeks. Or months. To return to normal behavior. Yes, that’s the most scary part. The unceasing abnormal behavior. The agitation. The hallucinations. Weeks and weeks after quitting. There are physiological explanations for it all. And there are effective long-term treatments. I’m told, dear Julie, that the underlying cause for your situation is depression. And long-term stress. Such as being an Alzheimer care-giver.  Without adequate respite. That most likely was the triggering factor with you.  I can understand that. After all, I was a care-giver. For 13 years. Too many years as a 24/7 care-giver. I became addicted. Not to alcohol. But to exercise. That may have helped save me. But my main salvation. Was daily respite. Daily breaks. My dear Jeanne went into a nursing home. For 38 months. I remained her  supplemental care-giver. For 8 to 10 hours daily. That allowed me to come home. For rest. For exercise. For a break from the daily grind.  Yes, I became a recluse, of sorts. For the sake of my sanity. Yes, I learned to take care of myself. Yes, Julie. That’s your problem. It’s necessary to take care of yourself. First and foremost. In a positive (not reckless) manner. Your next step. Is to come out of withdrawals. So that you can go down the road to full recovery. Your devoted husband Rick will be there. To hold your hand. And to give you love and moral support. At the same time. He’s setting a fine example. For the rest of us. We have endearing faith in you, dear Julie. Believe me. --Jim Broede