Friday, March 1, 2013

The daughter of an alcoholic

Being the child of an alcoholic is... Well, it's tough. I've been living with my mom's problem all my life, and it never gets easier. I know how to handle it, to contain it, but the feelings it evokes in me are the same.

Whenever she calls me while she's drunk (like the 4 times yesterday, or when I spoke to her just now), I get frustrated, I get anxious, and I get angry. And I hate feeling that way. I hate having to remind myself to take a deep breath while I'm listening to her talk, so that I don't snap at her. Because me getting angry at her doesn't do anything for anyone's benefit. Whenever that happens, I'm always the bad guy. I'm the bitch.

And it isn't ever going to be different. I stopped thinking she would change a long time ago. My grandma (my mom's mom) always told us (my sisters and me) that we just needed to let her know that we didn't like her drinking and she would get help. Yeah, we've done that. I've poured bottles of tequila down the kitchen sink, I've hid her alcohol, I've yelled, I've cried, I've fought. It isn't about me. It was never about me, or what I wanted, or what I needed.

And I accept that. I understand that. It doesn't make it any easier.

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