A cringe worthy title. But I am being real. To effectively become real I have to go back. Painfully looking at myself and facing my faults. My son didn’t have a dream of becoming who he is today. I take so much responsibility in creating the person I’ve come to resent.
I had my own addictions.
I sat in a room nervously picking at a styrofoam cup filled with bad coffee. I dreaded saying my name and announcing I was an alcoholic. I recognized a few faces in the room from certain bars i would frequent. Others I recognized from just coming to meetings and listening to the obviously rehearsed stories they told. I was such a cynic. They would pour their hearts out to the group. I watched every move and expression silently saying to myself “liar.”
I didn’t like meetings. Even today not liking meetings and the message of the Anonymous groups makes me feel like a narcissist. But I never claimed to have the answers. The frustration of not having answers and attending groups that don’t either soured me of the experience.
My mother attends them and gets a lot from them. She is more of a social person and the support offered there is admittedly a reason to attend. I’m not a social creature and have suffered all my life with anxiety. Needless to say attendance to this club was not something I sought out, it was court ordered.
I still don’t think I was an alcoholic, as in a disease that made me crave the hooch. I have always admitted to being socially awkward. I’ve always struggled with connections. I was raised Catholic and Sunday mass was a weekly panic attack. Sitting in the pew staring at the nearest door, picturing the best way to get to it. The overwhelming fear that I couldn’t breathe. I was convinced I couldn’t swallow the spit in my mouth. Why was I worried that my stomach would growl and everyone would hear it and laugh. My thought process was exhausting and I was eight years old.
Around 13 I took some alcohol to the skating rink. My friends and I thought it would be a cool thing to do. It was at that time I realized that alcohol helped me just by slowing my thoughts. My perception was that I finally felt like I could fit in. That wasn’t actually the case but it’s how drinking became a part of my life.
My family doesn’t drink, or smoke. To my knowledge I had no pre-disposed alcoholic gene waiting to wake up and take ahold of me. I do believe I was mentally ill and self medicating. But years of self medicating led to hurting my family, destroying friendships and relationships, ultimately leaving me with zero self esteem and self worth.
At 40 years old I was single with two teenage kids. I had already put them through years of chaos. It started by watching their alcoholic father beat me to years of moving , with me changing jobs, boyfriends and sabotaging any chance of stability. My daughter had enough when she turned 18. She met a boy with a good job and a house and quickly became pregnant. She saw a stable environment and she’s there today. Not an easy road for her and I know I pushed her there. My granddaughter is such a blessing and my daughter is the epitome of a wonderful person, not because of me but in spite of me.
My son and I have always been together. The definition of codependent would show a picture of us. I am not oblivious to my behavior. I’m seeking the answer without the traditional methods. I hate being so against the Anonymous message. I’ve heard for so long that i need to put him out. To let him have consequences. To love him but with boundaries. I would do any of these things without hesitation if someone would say, “this is the cure.” There are people that put their kids on the street and the kids die alone on the street. I can’t do that. But right now my son is drowning. I wasn’t smart enough to stay on the shore and throw him a life jacket. I jumped right in. I’ve been treading water holding on to him, but a drowning person pulls you under with them. My prayer is that I’m strong enough to hold on to him.
