I'm hanging out on my back porch with my dogs, enjoying some coffee and the sunshine and debating on whether or not I should waste my breath again.

I'm tired of asking questions. I'm tired of counting pills. I'm tired of trying to be supportive and understanding, while at the same time trying to make it clear that this is not okay.

I counted my husbands pills again today. It's interesting that he gave me one of his prescriptions to keep track of, to "help" him, and so that he wouldn't take and abuse his other one. I actually believed him! Why do I keep believing him? I counted his other prescription today because I was thinking about how content he's been just completely zoning out. It's that damn behavior I keep allowing myself to be naive to. Why do I keep doing that? How does someone manage to take 80 pills over the course of 11 days? And those are just the ones I know about this time around.

I'm trying to enjoy the sunshine. Watch my kids play. Focus on the positive. But I'm so tired of this beast that's looming over us. And why bother asking about it again when history just keeps repeating itself no matter what I say or do?

The worst part is that I wish this was an obvious addiction. I wish it was something people were more familiar with. One of the scariest things about this issue to me is that - for everyone on the outside looking in, we've got a great life, a perfect marriage, an awesome family, I've got a hardworking husband. . . If only people could see what it's really like. If only people knew how close I am to breaking, maybe someone would help me. But that's selfish of me. . .