Honesty Although It Hurts

I am going to change the topic of this blog just a little bit. I have a secret I have been living with as long as I can remember. My demons have come out again and writing seems to be my best outlet.

I am a child of alcoholics. Yes, plural. I am going to tell my story.....

As an adult child of alcoholics I can honestly say I never realized how much we carry with us into our adult life. I know for me personally I became a fantastic Oscar worthy actress. I grew up and basically took all my experiences and emotions and packed them neatly into a suitcase. I then threw the suitcase in a huge trunk, locked it down and threw away the key. Or so I thought. I was in for such a surprise it shook me to my core. 

A little background….my family and I immigrated to this country in 1983. I was in kindergarten at the time. We went through 2 or so years where neither or just 1 of my parents were able to find work. I remember times where we ate the same thing for a week straight. I even downsized my own portions to make sure it all lasted. We came here in search of freedom and a better life. We didn’t speak the language or even understand it. I was delayed in starting school while I picked up more on the language. I learned from TV and the street listening to people. When I turned 7 years old though, things started to change. Hardship abounded. While we had great family friends who helped us out greatly, the hardship was more than my parents could bare at the time. So my dad started drinking. He drank very heavily and had a jealous streak. Domestic abuse started around then and continued for a long time. 

I remember dreading having to come home. There were times when I got home to either find my mom beaten up or the house destroyed, furniture broken, etc or both. None of my classmates were dealing with this. Their parents or family life seemed better, different. Their parents showed up at games or school shows, etc. Mine were always absent. I used to go on sleepovers and even coming home from school, the minute I turned onto my street I immediately went into fight or flight mode. I was in complete panic. I used to hate the weekends. Then something happened. My mom started drinking. Heavily as well. I ended up being a scared child with no one to turn to or no place to go. I had no family here. We immigrated with just the 3 of us. So here I was probably about 9 at the time and spending my weekends between my parents because I was afraid my dad may kill her in an alcoholic rage. He used to black out he drank so much. The days I spent thinking my mom had died because she was passed out in an alcoholic coma. They would lock me in a room and I’d try to look under the door and all I heard was yelling, screaming and crashing or furniture. We lived on the first floor at the time. I use to jump out the window if I was locked in a room to run next door and beg and plead them to call the cops.

It continued as such until one night the police came as usual. As they were cuffing my dad I overheard them telling him that they have been called too many times and one more incident and I would be placed into foster care. I think that may have affected my father in a small way. He didn’t care enough to get help and be sober, he drank less and controlled his temper. My mother on the other hand drank more. She went from being a wine drinker to straight vodka. I got through the years with the same shame and fears I had harbored in my younger days. I was humiliated to walk down my street given how many times police had been called. But I learned to “make” it go away. Pretend it never happened. 

My last year in high school I turned rebel. I skipped classes and hung out with the wrong crowds. I didn’t care. My parents then decided to parent. It was too late and slaps across the face wouldn’t change the damage that was already done. Through all this time they continued to drink. I took jobs that kept me away from home for as long as possible. I then moved out. I miscarried a child and never had a normal long term relationship. I never really understood why. I always thought it was me or maybe I got bored easily, etc. I listened to my parents tell me what a shame I was to the family and what a loser I am. I allowed it to go on. I had been so emotionally beaten I didn’t care. I learned that if my own parents couldn’t love me, why on God’s green Earth would anyone else. So, in my late 20’s again out of hatred for them and rebellion I had a child out of wedlock. By then of course I was working and not living with them. My mother, however, never spoke to me through the pregnancy and I had to go through it all alone. I had a beautiful baby girl and things, I thought, at the time were getting better with my parents. They helped with my daughter. I kept it to a minimum because I was afraid they would hurt her. As you may have guessed…they were still drinking. After about 2 years, my parents started to emotionally abuse me again with telling me how worthless and useless I was. They even went to court to take my daughter away from me. Lets say they did not succeed. I never drank, I worked and was a very good mother according to the court. I had had enough. I moved half way across country. I still couldn’t keep a relationship for long. I walked away within the first 6 months or sooner. But I was happy, I was finally free to enjoy my daughter and be away from my parents. 

One day I got a call from my mother. My father was diagnosed with end stage renal failure. She needed help and support. So you know where I am coming from, I was raised that your parents are your parents no matter what. You can dislike them but you must respect them. I made the mistake of moving back. The emotional abuse never stopped. I grinned and beared it as much as I could. My mother was out on disability so she was drunk all day, every day. My father hated his disease and continued to drink. I was living a nightmare. My dad lived 3 years with kidney failure. He died in 2009. Needless to say my patience was practically diminished and I wanted out. My mother brought her drinking to new levels. Even if she slept all night she would still be groggy and look like she drank the next morning. My daughter hated it. She didn’t know what it was but knew when her grandmother drank the clear stuff it mad her a mean person. Finally my mother couldn’t stand having hardship and left me and my daughter alone to struggle. 

We survived and were better for it. I hadn’t even heard from her for a year and a half. I was finally reasonably happy. Until one day I got a call from my aunt. She told me my mother had been in Europe and was in major circulatory surgery and may not make it through the night. I had forgiven her (or so I thought) and decided to try and repair the bridge for my daughters sake. She had stopped drinking. Seemed perfectly fine on the phone. So I let her come back and move in with me and my daughter. Everything was fine until this year. I met a man that I am very much in love with for the first time in my life. I plan to marry him. Well, my mother maybe sober but she is still a dry drunk. She tells this person how dumb I am, what a fat cow and irresponsible I am and how she wished I wasn’t her daughter. She smiles to my face. Now you have to understand I pulled away from my entire family because of the emotional abuse I took from them all. How dumb I am, and fat and what a loser I am. I pulled away and stopped talking to all of them. My mother however, still lives with me and continues this path. 

I assumed I was over it because I had gone through this entire time happier and feeling better about myself. My mother is toxic to me, my daughter and my fiancée. So much so, she seems determined to break us up. I don’t understand why, but she continues on her abusive streak.

I am now 30+ years since the alcoholism started. I am an adult. I don’t use my childhood as an excuse to drink or do drugs. I have been a single mother for 11 years now and never was on welfare. I always kept it together. I don’t drink, do drugs or have any other vices. I am walking in faith every day of my life and yet…..I am still stuck in my glass house. I am not happy. I have never found a home…not a house but a home. I want to run somewhere, anywhere…every day of my life. It is a constant battle. The nightmare has begun again.