I had a good night's sleep but when I woke up, the house was quiet in that uncomfortably familiar way. I knew right away, my husband wasn't home.

The thoughts that go through my mind immediately ...

Okay, where is is ... let me call him (no answer), let me text him (no response), let me call him (again) ... 

I've learned not to panic on the first call. I'm learning to turn to God instead of freaking out. I still freak out but to a much lesser degree these days.

I scan the house - check the bathroom, check the kitchen, look out the windows to see if he's in the yard or walking in the park across the street.

I look for clues ... did he take his phone, wallet? Did he take the power bank? 

What was he wearing last night? I have a pic, thankfully. 

Well, he wasn't stuck in the heat because he went out late last night and I woke up around 7:30am.

I look for evidence ... was he drunk, high? I didn't see any bottles, only a salad bowl in the sink. He didn't leave me many clues. I know he was high enough to be awake enough to hang command strips in various places throughout the house (he wants to hang up our tapestries.)

My stomach started going weak. I struggled to ignore and fend off the thoughts in my head with prayer. 

"Please God, if it's not meant for me to worry about, please give me the peace to not worry about it. I turn him over to you. What my husband is doing is not my business, and I need your help to keep me focused on my own stuff. I hope he's safe, and I trust you to protect him, God. What you do with him is not my business either."

I didn't necessarily feel a wave of relief or peace. But I didn't freak out and instead I showered, got dressed and put on an Al-Anon meeting, which did help me feel less alone. 

Some other intrusive thoughts ... I tend to prepare myself for the worst ... 

If he's s dead, what will I do?

Stay in Arizona? I can't see myself going back to Jersey. But it would surely suck to be here without family and not many friends just yet.

I still haven't found work. Funds are starting to get low.

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He texted me mid-meeting to let me know he got too spun last night. Lost his drugs, tried to find more, lost them too. Said he'd be home in half an hour (I just heard his voice, he's outside now talking to the neighbor). 

I thank God for giving me more time with my husband. I thank God that he's safe. 

I'm learning to not get upset with him and instead love him through his struggle. 

It doesn't always go well - especially when he gets home and the relief gets replaced with "dammit, where the fuck where you".

I am sorry, God. I am a work in progress and boy do I ever need you.