choice! choices!
A comment one of my readers made awhile ago has stuck inside my head: "We live in the hell we create. We can either be bitter, or make it better." I tell myself this every day as I navigate through some pretty tricky scenarios. Yesterday, I received an e-mail from an alcohol rehabilitation center. It was sent to me, only me, and I have wondered who might have passed it along. I am doing fine and no, I am NOT in denial! I am also not enabling my husband's behavior, either--he knows exactly what the consequences of his drinking is, and I do have to say that there are many more GOOD times when he has made the right choice than bad times.
I also received this message from someone and wish to share it with you. It is from another person who is caught on the sidelines watching someone she loves drink their life away. Maybe it can offer you some inspiration as well:
"I can hear the door slamming and curse words being yelled. I feel alone in my room with my pillow over my head. With tears running down my face, I swallow my sadness and try to find my happy place. But where is my happy place? It is hard being a teenager, but it is even more difficult being a teenager with a father who's an alcoholic.
Being in a position like mine, you have to find ways to cope with situations like this. I sometimes try talking to people who care. Andria has been my best friend since I was four. Now I'm fifteen, and I can't believe we've been friends for eleven years. There is one downside to talking to Andria. She lives 216 miles away. Somehow we manage to stay close. In fact, her move brought us closer than ever. When I talk to her about my dad, I just want to cry because I wish she could be there sitting next to me while I hide in the room from everything... my dad, the alcohol, my life.
The recent years have been especially rough. My dad is always drunk, arguing with everyone, blaming everyone else for his problems. Someone who was close to me passed away recently, and, of course, Andria moved away, making everything harder. Some days I wake up crying. I had to be taken out of class one day because I was crying too hard. None of my friends have an alcoholic parent, so when I attempt to vent, they don't respond as I wish they would. They don't understand; they don't know what I'm feeling.
I began to see a counselor. It helped me feel better and more confident for a while but then I began to feel like I didn't need that anymore, I needed something different. I needed to talk to someone who understood me, someone else just like me -- someone who also has an alcoholic parent. So my mom showed me something called Ala-teen. Ala-teen is for teenagers whose lives have been affected by someone else's drinking. When I go to Ala-teen meetings I don't feel lonely anymore. When I sit in that room with all those other kids, I know that I can be open with my feelings and I feel safe because I can trust them all. It is easier to talk to someone when they have been in your position at some point and time in their life. Ala-teen may be my happy place.
Sometimes I cope with my anger, frustration, and loneliness by writing. I like to write songs -- not too many people know that about me. I didn't even tell Andria. I also like to listen to music. It distracts me, just lets me listen to the beat and stop focusing on all my stress.
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If you have an alcoholic parent, I'm sure you would sympathize with a lot of my experiences and feelings. It's really frustrating. I know that I cannot do anything about it. It is my dad's choice and he is the only one who can change it. All I can do is pray that my dad gets help, because if he doesn't he will lose his family. He will lose us. Family comes first... not alcohol.
I have realized that my happy place can be anywhere I want it to be. All I need is to be confident and positive. I will stand up for myself and my family, and I will learn from my dad's mistakes. I will not let alcohol take over my life and I will live life to the fullest. I know that there will be rough days, but all I can do is remind myself to take one day at a time."
As a person who has watched his own father succumb to the bottle, I can tell you--it was hell growing up. Then when mom and sis died, killed by a drunk driver, dad went into a world of his own and I was left to fend for myself. I saw dad dwindle to nothing and the choice was let him go live on hos own or care for him myself. I choose to care for him. Rev, I lost a potential serious relationship because she didn't want to deal with "a drunk" all the time. I saw her for what she was. After readin your posts, and how you deal with your life day by day, I know her leaving was for the best. This is all I have, Rev. My dad is all I have left from my life!!! and if no one can deal with it, with dad just being dad, well, F them, becaus he gave me life...and even when all was dark, I had "him." So we do it day by day as well. Thanks, Rev...and to all who are facing their own dark night, please...ask yourself, how much dos this person mean to you?
ReplyDeleteI recently read this, I think you'll like it, only because, at one time, this was me, in a way. it is a story of a young family who went out to eat at a local restaurant. They were the only family with children in the restaurant. The mom sat their little boy, Erik, in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi." He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin as he wriggled and giggled with joy.
ReplyDeleteThe mother looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man wearing baggy pants and shoes so worn that his toes poked out. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. The man sat far away but the mother was sure he smelled bad. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists in an effort to make Erik laugh.
“Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik. Erik’s mom and dad exchanged looks and asked, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and answer, "Hi." Everyone in the restaurant noticed the man who was creating a nuisance with the beautiful baby. Their meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk.
Erik’s parents were embarrassed and ate in silence. Not Erik. He was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. The parents finally got through the meal and headed for the door. The husband went to pay the check and told his wife to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between the mother and the door. "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," she prayed. As she drew closer to the man, she turned her back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As she did, Erik leaned over her arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. Before the mom could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from her arms to the man's.
Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head on the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and tears hovered beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled the baby and gently stroked his back.
No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. The mother and every other person in the restaurant were awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and in a firm and even commanding voice said, "You take care of this baby." Somehow the mother managed, "I will" from a throat choked with emotion.
He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. The mom took her baby and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." With Erik in her arms, the mom ran for the car. Her husband was wondering why his wife was crying and holding Erik so tightly saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." Everyone had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. The mother was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. A ragged old man had unwittingly preached the message found in Scripture, "To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."