I hear a loud crash outside the bedroom. I check my phone and it’s 4am.
My husband Mike sways into my field of vision, smiling wonkily. ‘Soz, got back a bit later than I thought – it was fun, you really should…’ But he doesn’t finish as he sort of half-walks, half-falls into the bathroom. I get a waft of stale sweat as he sweeps past.
In just hours, I have to get up and start my day at a music management business and now I’m going to be exhausted.
When he finally clambers into bed, he tosses and turns for what feels like for ever, and then eventually grabs his dressing gown and goes downstairs.
Later, I will find him asleep on the sofa. I put on an audio book and try to relax, but I’m too worked up and seething with fury. At least with him downstairs he won’t try to spoon me or, worse, try to have sex.
Mike is 48 and you’d have thought coming home in this state was a thing of the past. Besides, he was never one for clubbing or lock-ins or random house parties. And yet nowadays this stumbling return in the small hours has become a regular, almost weekly, occurrence.
I suspect this is because Mike is not getting drunk but instead has started to take cocaine.
It’s been like this for 18 months. At the beginning, I thought going out a bit more would be good for him: he works in data analysis and spends long hours sitting in front of his computer, so I thought letting his hair down now and then was no bad thing.
Clare’s husband Mike started taking cocaine 18 months ago. As well as worrying about his health, it’s having a huge impact on their sex life (posed by models)
But now it’s most weekends, fuelled by coke and sometimes MDMA, or ecstasy.
I think he’s started to smoke cannabis during the day, too, perhaps to manage the restlessness or anxiety cocaine can give you the next day.
I was once walking home from the supermarket when I spotted him smoking a spliff on a park bench like a teenager, near our home in south London. In that moment I felt terrified, like I didn’t know my husband at all.
I’m reluctant to bring it up with any but my closest friends. I’m not judgmental – I used to do these things myself when I was younger – but I know other people are.
I suppose I should be grateful that he’s at least honest with me about it. When he’s been on a proper bender, he’ll tell me all about it the next day – never discussing any of the details in front of our 16-year-old son, thankfully.
He says that he needs the drugs to switch off because they are restructuring at work and he’s worried he’s going to lose his job, or there’s a new team member he doesn’t get on with or… well, there’s a different reason each time. He says he goes to clubs and just dances or chats to his friends. I don’t ask for too many details, maybe because I’m scared of what he’ll say.
‘At least he’s not having an affair,’ one of my best friends said recently when I confided in her.
But sometimes I wish he was because then I wouldn’t worry so much about his health.
Things seemed to change when he turned 46. He became more remote at home and lost some of his sex drive. I wondered if he was depressed. And then he started going out with a particular set of old friends – men he’d known since university – and very quickly got into what I call totally irresponsible habits and he thinks is well-deserved fun.
He says that he needs the drugs to switch off because they are restructuring at work and he’s worried he’s going to lose his job, or there’s a new team member he doesn’t get on with
Here I am, peri-menopausal, dealing with a child in his GCSE year, working full-time, watching my own parents age at an ever faster rate, and there he is, raving till 4am on a Thursday night.
It is having a serious impact on our sex life. Cocaine can cause erectile dysfunction for both the short and long term, and he’s certainly suffered from that. In fact, I’d say it’s become the norm.
He doesn’t have to be on coke to struggle, which makes me think it’s having a chronic physiological effect or is turning into something psychological. ‘Guess I’m getting on a bit,’ he mumbled the last time. This is the one area in which he refuses to be honest with me. It’s not that he’s older, it’s that he is taking cocaine.
I worry that he’ll start taking Viagra, too – he’s suggested it – and that he’ll have a massive heart attack if he combines it with coke! I tell him we don’t need Viagra, he just needs to stop taking drugs.
The problem is, when he comes back from a night out, he’s usually in the grip of a rather inflated sense of ego – the only thing that is inflated – so instead of feeling embarrassed, he just laughs or makes a joke.
It’s not only boring but a complete turn off. I hate the way he looks when he’s on it, too, all wide-eyed and red-faced. To put it bluntly, it repels me.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided I’d had enough.
As much as anything it’s a terrible example to our son, who obviously knows more than he lets on. Imagine being 16 and having a dad who goes clubbing or stays up all night at ‘mates’ houses’ once a week?
I told Mike he was wrecking his son’s childhood and leaving me to pick up all the hard work at home. But in response, again like a petulant kid, he immediately packed a rucksack.
He has done this before. One time he went to the local Premier Inn after I said I was tired of it all. He stayed the night at the hotel, and I tried ringing him several times, but whenever I got through, he just hung up. I was worried sick.
The irony is the actual teenager in our house is a breeze: mature, hard-working, popular, not interested in drugs at all. Meanwhile, I have this stupid 48-year-old manchild who refuses to grow up.
I’m not even sure how much he spends on his ‘habits’. I haven’t asked for precise figures. He’s reminded me more than once that he has no expensive hobbies, no love of fine wines or exotic travel, that this is his one indulgence, so I haven’t yet used that line of attack.
One of the worst experiences was when we were all invited to a friend’s house for a party. It’s an amazing place: sleek, minimal, six bedrooms, like a house in an interiors magazine. I knew Mike was taking coke. He was laughing loudly, standing in a big group of people – most of them sober.
Then one of our friends suggested we get into the Jacuzzi. This wasn’t strange – we’ve known these people for years and have been on holiday together with our children several times.
I went upstairs to get changed into a borrowed costume when I heard a shriek from the garden. ‘Mike – get your clothes on!’ One of my best female friends was laughing, but it was nervous laughter.
It turned out Mike had stripped off and was sitting in the Jacuzzi naked. The whole thing was mortifying, and though he tried to make a joke of it, I could see looks of baffled concern spreading across faces. It was an incredibly odd thing to do and embarrassing for everyone.
I still find it hard to forgive him. The drugs seem to change his personality, and I know people will be talking behind our back not only about that incident but the broader implications. Whether their children should still have sleepovers at ours. Whether I’m all right. What the hell is wrong with Mike?
Since then I’ve told him he needs to seek professional help. I’ve even tried to appeal to his vanity. It’s true that cocaine ages you and he does indeed look older than he is – by about ten years.
There’s much more grey in his hair, and his skin is slack and pallid, with purple bags under his eyes. He looks defeated and vaguely ill but then says I’m being mean when I bring it up.
Honestly, it’s only because of our shared history and because, deep down, I do love him, that I’ve stayed this long.
And yet everyone has a limit. I need to prioritise our son. I miss the intimacy we used to have. I’ve suggested rehab, but I also need to live in a more stable environment and take care of myself. I’ve begun to realise I can’t fix him.
How ridiculous and infuriating it is to be navigating something like this in my mid-40s.
I am at my wits’ end – and probably that of my marriage, too.
Clare Smith is a pseudonym. All names and identifying details have been changed.
