Thoughts of an Addict's Daughter
Heather McCain
I remember tucking my father into bed many nights, begging him to just go to sleep because it would be better in the morning. I knew it would be better, because he would wake up in the morning sober and apologetic. Then, I would lay in the darkness of my own bed with that nights events replaying in my head. Loudness, fighting, cussing, stumbling, hours on end of my parents ripping through each other with their words.
My mom would forgive him in the morning, too. Its strange, when I look back, at how often I blamed her for their fights. He would come home with beer, and she would pour it down the drain, he would dip into his Wild Turkey stash, then a fight would ensue. I would think, well if she would have just let him drink his beer this wouldn't have happened! I understand now that she knew it would undoubtedly happen if he drank, and she was trying to prevent that. I know now that she was a victim of his verbal abuse when he was drunk.
My mom would forgive him in the morning, too. Its strange, when I look back, at how often I blamed her for their fights. He would come home with beer, and she would pour it down the drain, he would dip into his Wild Turkey stash, then a fight would ensue. I would think, well if she would have just let him drink his beer this wouldn't have happened! I understand now that she knew it would undoubtedly happen if he drank, and she was trying to prevent that. I know now that she was a victim of his verbal abuse when he was drunk.
Reading this, you may think I hate my father. That couldn't be further from the truth, though. I was a Daddy's girl. When he was sober, he spoiled me. He was silly, kindhearted, playful, and loving. When he was sober.
When he was drunk, he was angry, hateful, and intentionally mean to those he loved. He grew up being severely abused by his father, so the next day when he was sober, he would be overridden with guilt. He was a functioning alcoholic, so he would go to work, come home happy and with apology treats in hand for my Mom and I, we would spend some time together and really enjoy it, and then he would become more and more intoxicated as the night went on. And, well, the circle would continue.
When he was drunk, he was angry, hateful, and intentionally mean to those he loved. He grew up being severely abused by his father, so the next day when he was sober, he would be overridden with guilt. He was a functioning alcoholic, so he would go to work, come home happy and with apology treats in hand for my Mom and I, we would spend some time together and really enjoy it, and then he would become more and more intoxicated as the night went on. And, well, the circle would continue.
One thing that was very difficult about being the child of an addict was feeling as though I lived with two dads. Sober Daddy, who was the apple of my eye, and Drunk Daddy, who was scary and dark. I saw Sober Daddy cry once because he despised Drunk Daddy, because he despised his addiction. As a child, I didn't understand addiction, so I didn't understand why he wouldn't just stop drinking if he hated the consequences so much.
It is a strange thing, never knowing what each day will hold. There was no looking forward to a peaceful evening with my family after a day at school. There was no guarantee that home was my safe place. There was only anxiety that it would be a bad night and a deep desire that it would be a good one.
My father committed suicide when I was thirteen, but the impacts of his addiction did not end there. The anxiety has stayed with me into adulthood. Having been raised in a chaotic environment, my fight or flight response was always on, so I didn't realize how truly chaotic my adult life had become during the time I lived with my abusive ex-boyfriend. For four years, I forgave over and over, just like my mother had done for my father.
It is a strange thing, never knowing what each day will hold. There was no looking forward to a peaceful evening with my family after a day at school. There was no guarantee that home was my safe place. There was only anxiety that it would be a bad night and a deep desire that it would be a good one.
My father committed suicide when I was thirteen, but the impacts of his addiction did not end there. The anxiety has stayed with me into adulthood. Having been raised in a chaotic environment, my fight or flight response was always on, so I didn't realize how truly chaotic my adult life had become during the time I lived with my abusive ex-boyfriend. For four years, I forgave over and over, just like my mother had done for my father.
I am happily married now and finally have a home that is also my safe place, but I still struggle with anxiety, OCD tendencies, and some PTSD. My father has been gone for many years, but I am still the daughter of an addict in many ways. I miss him, and I pray that he is at peace.
I am finally learning that it is okay to be angry or sad because of him, too. I don't have to pretend that he didn't hurt me because I love him. I can honor him and his life, and honor myself by telling my truth. I can grieve the loss of him and grieve what he took from me - the safety and stability that I needed. I can love him and love me.
I am finally learning that it is okay to be angry or sad because of him, too. I don't have to pretend that he didn't hurt me because I love him. I can honor him and his life, and honor myself by telling my truth. I can grieve the loss of him and grieve what he took from me - the safety and stability that I needed. I can love him and love me.
Related Article:
