Alcoholic

A Story by Jennifer

How I've made realization over my father's drinking problem and how I've dealt with the pain.

Alcoholic.

Some people do not even understand what that means and some people know it all too well.

Growing up, my parents thankfully isolated me from becoming so comfortable with that word.

I thank them every day for that, well my mom. The one that is still here; that is still around. I would sit in boring health class in middle school and hear stories of how people have died from alcoholism. I was very arrogant when it came to stories. "How can someone be addicted to alcohol? They can just stop drinking." I will admit to that. I was very close-minded when it came to addictions. I didn't understand because I didn't have to understand. I had two clean, sober parents. My mom wouldn't even buy alcohol for the house.

Growing older, I have heard stories about my father stealing money from our family for alcohol.

I still couldn't understand. "How can someone be addicted to alcohol?" I shadowed away from it. I heard stories on top of stories about who my dad once was. It didn't make sense in my mind. My dad is such a strong, out-going, and protective father. He's not a thief or some monster. He couldn't be.

My mother couldn't be that naïve. Around 15, 16 years of age, I started going to parties. Obviously where they served alcohol and I admittedly would drink at these parties. In the back of my mind at every bottom of that cup was my dad. "If I drink this, will I be like him?" But I didn't believe my dad had a drinking problem. It was just an excuse for what he did. "You can't be addicted to drinking. That's just stupid." So I continued to drink and drink and drink.

I didn't know what alcoholism was until the age of 19. Age 18, he left.

Family and friends have told me it was probably because of drinking binges. But I didn't even understand what a binge was? Like who can drink days on end? My dad left with some girl. My dad left us for some other family. I told this to myself every single night. While I sank my head into the pillow crying and sobbing, I continued to tell myself I was not a good enough daughter. Somewhere along the way he just gave up on me. I believed this for about a year.

Age 19, he showed up at my house. Drunk.

Tilting over, crying to me that I won't talk to him. He smelled like alcohol, a scent I've never smelled on my father before. He was tugging on my arm as a child begging for me to talk to him. He looked at me in the eyes and told me he isn't drinking. He said this while drunk and still having a half of a loco in his car, front seat. Cup holder. This is when I saw my dad as weak. Where did the happy and strong man go? This is the time I started to realize, "how can he not control the drinking?" This is when I realized alcohol is taking over him.

Age 19, he continued to text me talking about how he hates his life and how he'd rather die than not have a relationship with his daughter.

He was drunk.

Each and every time he was drunk, I told him to get sober to have a relationship with me. He never was able to do so. He was never able to stay sober. Ever since he left. I started to hate him. I started having so much anger.

Age 19, I dated this man that had a drug addiction. This is when I understood my father in such a deeper way. I knew when my ex was clean. I just knew. He was happy and things were normal. But when he started using again and again, something clicked in him. Another whole personality came out, just like my dad, when he left.

Sometimes I sit in my room and think about a year before he left and the signs I clearly missed.

My dad didn't have weird messages in his phone from other women or I didn't hear from other people around town that he was talking to someone else. But, I did find alcohol cans in the bottom of our garbage can. I confronted him and he made an excuse that they were his friends and he dumped them. I did hear from a friend that he would ask people at work to buy a drink for him.

That's when I realized he didn't leave because some girl had a better life for him or because I wasn't good enough for him to stay.

He left because of his alcoholism.

For so long I've had this anger towards addicts. "It's their fault why they are the way they are. It was their choice to do what they did." Which is true. However addicts are just like a child who falls in a hole after they have been told to not play in that certain area. They fall in the hole and as adults would say, "We told you so." Then they fall deeper. We start to feel some sort of sympathy. Then they fall deeper into this hole and we wish they never fell into it. We wish they never felt this pain. See, with addicts it's the same figuration. After a while as they're stuck in this "hole" we start to feel sorry for them. What they love is destroying them and we can't do anything, but watch.

That's when most of my anger went away. When I realized my dad did have choices, but sometimes the substance chooses him over and over again. And we can't sit there and try to fix it. That's out of our control. We can just hope they get out of the hole themselves.

My mother couldn't be that naïve. Around 15, 16 years of age, I started going to parties. Obviously where they served alcohol and I admittedly would drink at these parties. In the back of my mind at every bottom of that cup was my dad. "If I drink this, will I be like him?" My dad does have a drinking problem. My dad is an alcoholic.

Now at age 20, with my dad in the back of my mind when I have a cup of alcohol in my hand. I wonder, "If I drink this, will I be like him?" I put the drink down. Because alcohol did take my dad away. I just hope he lives to see the day he'll take the alcohol away. And be the dad that I've only known of growing up.